Across the Universe
by poma14
Summary: Can lovers who were ripped apart in one life find each other and reconnect in the next? AU Anna/Bates reincarnation story. What would have happened if Bates had hanged? Romance with a heavy dollop of mystery as Anna and Bates's paths cross once again and they are inexplicably drawn to each other. Will they figure who they were in the past? And how does that affect their future?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So I had the idea for this story over a year ago back when Bates's future was more up in the air, but I got wrapped up in writing **_**Hours 'Til Dawn**_** and I never got around to starting it. **

**This is sort of a hybrid attempt between a modern AU and the traditional canon. It does take place mostly in current day, but it is very much John and Anna of the past trying to reconnect. I intend for this story to be a mystery, to see if they can figure out who they were, who they are and whether or not they are meant to have a second chance together. And oh yeah, along the way find out who killed Vera (because we need a better ending than Mr. Fellowes provided). **

**You will only see a few other characters pop up in John and Anna's story-because would everybody really be reincarnated as the same people with the same names? Not likely. But there are a few, ones that were so important in their lives the first time around that they would cross paths with them again. **

**Since this story is a bit out there, I totally welcome any comments or suggestions. Thanks! :)**

**Hope you like it…**

* * *

**Across the Universe**

"What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us." Ralph Waldo Emerson.

_**January 21, 1920**_

_The rope was smooth, braided, not scratchy at all. But it was heavy . . . sturdy. Meant to snap a man's neck._

_Voices mumbled behind him. The sun peeked out from dingy clouds. He could feel its warmth upon his face. It felt good. He was about to die, but the sun felt good. _

"_Do you have any last words?"_

_Last words. Sure, he had plenty. _

_I love you . . . Please be happy . . . I want you happy. . ._

"_No." They were all for her, no one else._

_I'm so sorry . . . I wish we had more time. . . God, I love you . . ._

_A metal door creaked open. First a guard . . . then her. God damn it. What was she doing here? She was supposed to stay back. Not witness this end. Their end._

_The noose was tightened. He didn't want to, but his eyes sought hers. Were desperate for hers. For one last conversation. No words this time. _

_The guard's feet pounded across the gallows. Down the stairs. He was alone. _

_But he wasn't. She was right there. Her blue eyes startling clear as she declared her love one final time. _

_Sweat beaded on his brow. He wished he could brush it away but his hands were bound. Those who claim to not fear death were liars. He was scared. Terrified. This was it. The end of all he was. The end of all he knew. She would be lost to him forever._

_Out of the corner of his eye, the warden raised his hand. He returned his focus to her. A vision to leave this world with. _

" '_Til we meet again," she mouthed followed by a trembling smile. Heaven. A fanciful notion. A chance to be reunited. She held on to that. He too wanted to believe too . . . but couldn't. There was no heaven, no God. He wouldn't be standing here if there was._

_He smiled back. It hurt. Hurt so much to do so. But she deserved a smile and to believe they would meet again. He knew better. This was their final moment._

_The warden's hand came down. His eyes closed. Wood creaked. He was falling. The last thing he heard was her scream as he dropped into darkness._

* * *

**April 15****th****, 2012**

John Bates awoke with a start. His hands immediately found their way up his neck. He rubbed from chin to his collar bone massaging away the familiar phantom soreness. He was having the old dream again. Funny, he hadn't dreamt it in years. There had been a time when he awoke to it every night, but that all changed with his last tour. He had real horrors to keep him awake not just ones conjured up in his sleep.

"You okay? That must of have been some dream."

John shook his head slightly before turning to focus on the voice coming from two seats away.

"It was nothing. I hope I wasn't causing a scene."

The owner of the voice, a petite blonde waved her hand with disregard. "Not really. You just seemed to be reliving something unpleasant." Her voice was friendly with an air of concern. And British. She must be on her way home he briefly thought. "No worries anyhow, not too many folks are looking to catch a 5:30am flight out of Bucharest."

John glanced around Otopeni Airport. The shadows of night were only now beginning to disappear. Travelers spoke and moved with deference to the early hour. A few people perused the duty-free shop, while a small line existed in front of the one food kiosk for the entire airport. At their gate, a dozen or so passengers waited for the flight to London. Across the aisle a young man, a college student from the looks of it, sprawled across a row of seats, his carry-on serving as a pillow. Probably backpacking through Europe. There had been a time when John had wanted to embark on such a journey. But he had no regrets really; he had ended up seeing much of the world albeit through a different lens.

He turned back to the woman. She was rummaging through a satchel. Her straight chin length hair fell loosely around her face. After a second or two, she pulled out an apple with a self-satisfied grin. She proceeded to polish it against her sweater before bringing to her mouth.

She was quite pretty. There was no denying it, but John wasn't prepared for the unadulterated wave of attraction that swarmed him by her simple act of bringing an apple to her lips. Her lips were perfect. He knew how they'd feel. Soft, warm, welcoming. He shook his head_. _Jesus, where was this coming from? He really needed to get more sleep.

He must have been staring because she paused before taking a bite. "Oh, I'm being awfully rude, aren't I? Here I am eating right in front of you. Would you like a snack?"

She leaned her bag towards him so he could have a look inside. Much to John's surprise, she was walking mini-mart of snacks. A few small bags of pretzels and potato chips, a Flake candy bar, a package of biscuits, a tin of Altoids, a banana, Jelly Babies, Cadbury mini-rolls, a box of raisins and a small jar of orange marmalade. He momentarily pondered how she got the marmalade through airport security.

"That's quite an impressive stash you have," John noted, one side of his mouth hitching up in a grin.

"I know, I know. I'm a junk food-aholic. I travel so much I hardly have time to eat properly and I always seem to want to nibble on something. But I know one day it will all catch up with me," she admitted giving John an exaggerated frown.

"Well, it hasn't so far."

"Aww, thanks. That's nice of you to say. And for that kind remark, I insist you take a snack." With a genuine smile, she pushed her satchel towards him. "Please take one."

John paused for a second. "Well . . . if you insist."

"I do." Another smile, this time their eyes met. He couldn't help but think what a lovely lady. He seldom applied the term to women these days, a bit antiquated for his tastes, but there was something about her. . . he wasn't sure what. . .maybe it was her carriage or the accent or the friendly smile. But whatever it was, this woman was a lady.

"Okay, I'll try the mini-rolls."

"Here you go," she smiled handing over the snack.

John looked down at the chocolate rolls and laughed to himself. "You know, this is first time I've had junk food in six months."

A look of horror spread across the woman's face. "Oh my God, you're on a special diet or something and here I am trying to force crap down your throat. I'm so sorry."

Before thinking, John reached over and placed his hand on hers. "No, stop. It's nothing of the sort. It simply wasn't available where I had been living."

"Well, that's a relief," she sighed patting his hand with her free hand. Her hands felt so soft and soothing. He started to brush his thumb of her knuckles. _John, what the hell are you doing? This woman is a complete stranger. _

He quickly removed his hand. He hoped she didn't think him an idiot because that's sure how he felt.

"So in what fantasyland were you living that junk food did not exist?" She continued on seemingly unaware. "I'm not sure I would survive."

Normally John was quite guarded about his personal life especially with strangers. He was a consummate gentleman to all, his mother had beat courtesy into him at an early age, but he felt it difficult to move past pleasantries with most people. It was just his nature. He didn't have a huge amount of friends, but those he had were cultivated over many years. Yet . . . this young lady was different. He didn't mind talking . . . sharing . . . with her. It was strange.

"I was in Afghanistan . . . just outside Kandahar."

"Christ! You just came from living there? Are you in the military?"

"Used to be. Now I work for an international relief organization."

"Well, I am suitably impressed," she said admiration tingeing her voice before taking a bite out of her apple.

"Just doing my job."

"Well, it's still impressive."

Compliments made John uncomfortable. He didn't want them when he had been a Navy SEAL and he didn't want them now. He had seen far too many men seduced by the praise and rewards that came from working in such fields. When you start thinking of yourself exalted, you put yourself and those you work with in danger. And while John had no problem talking at length about the importance of Robert's charity, A Mother's Dream, to potential donors or media interests, he did not like to elaborate on his personal connection with the organization.

But he didn't want their discussion to end just yet.

"So what job has you traveling so much that you feel compelled to carry a survival pack of junk food with you at all times?"

She giggled. John couldn't help being charmed at the girlish sound. God, she was young. He probably had a good fifteen years on her.

"Well, I work in acquisitions for Concord Hotels and Resorts, specializing in historic properties."

"Meaning you buy up old buildings?"

"In manner of speaking, yes. But there's more to it than that. I have to ascertain whether or not a property is a good fit for our company which involves a ton of research in addition to my site visits. I have to be able to justify to my bosses why I believe a property would be profitable. There has to be a hook."

"A hook?"

She paused a moment adjusting her body in the hard plastic airport chair. She effortlessly brought her legs up and crossed them like a small child sitting in a preschool circle. Not only was she young, but she was limber. John inwardly cringed by how decrepit he felt in comparison sitting next to her.

"Well . . . I have to be able to show . . . Are you sure you want to hear about this? It's probably not all that exciting to people who spend their time in war zones," she said grinning up at John.

John couldn't remember the last time he simply enjoyed friendly banter. Sometimes he and Robert engaged in it, but it had been a lot less since Cora's death. Yes, he did go back and forth with his sister, but that was usually over the internet which wasn't the same.

"I would love to hear about the inner workings of the hotel trade. War zones are highly overrated," John assured her with a smile to match hers.

"All right, as I was saying I have to be able to show why travelers would want to stay at a property, what would hook them. For some places it's the location . . . a beautiful beach, mountains, a glamorous city, etc. Other times it's the actual facility and its amenities that are key. And still other times, especially with properties that are run-down and falling apart, it's the story that matters. It's in our human nature to be compelled by the past whether it's hauntings, mystery or romance. People love to walk in the footsteps of those who came before them, to sleep in the same bedrooms as royalty, to wander the same corridors as lords and ladies. They want to reconnect with the past."

"So where did this trip take you? Transylvania . . . perhaps Dracula's Castle?"

"I wish. Now that would have made for a good story. I ended up looking at an old mansion in Bucharest. Quite dilapidated. A local baron had built it back in 1800's. Turns out he was a real bastard. He was fond of abusing everyone around him. He beat his servants regularly with a board and occasionally his wife and children."

"Sounds like a nice guy."

"Yeah, real nice. Then eventually the property was confiscated during the Ceausescu era and used as some sort of ministry building."

"So I take it you're passing on this property?"

She nodded taking another bite. "No hook, but at least I got to travel somewhere new. I had never been to Romania before . . . So, speaking of traveling . . . Are you on your way home?"

Home. If you could call a sparsely furnished, one-bedroom apartment that John only slept in a few months out of the year home, then yes, he was headed home.

He just nodded. "I have a short layover at Heathrow, then onto D.C."

"Is that where you live?"

"Yes, when I'm not overseas. It's where our organization is based out of."

Pause. Not because of lack of interest on either end. She was eyeing him. He could almost see the wheels working in her head. She took another bite of apple. She was contemplating.

"May I ask you something . . . and if it's too personal just tell me."

Okay, now he was really intrigued and nervous. What on earth would she want to ask him about that might be too personal?

"Go ahead . . . shoot."

"What were you dreaming about? . . . Was it what you saw over there . . . in Afghanistan?

John let out a small sigh of relief that he hadn't even realized he had been holding. His old dream wasn't personal at all. It was odd, for sure, but not revealing. Oh, it probably had some deep hidden meaning but he didn't particularly buy into dream analysis mumbo jumbo.

"Not at all. Actually it's this strange recurring dream that I've had since college. I dream that . . . Are you sure you want to hear this?" John questioned with a skeptical half smile repeating her question from earlier.

"I'm all ears. I am quite certain it's much more fascinating than the hotel industry. . . That is if you want to tell me. No pressure, really."

"I don't mind, but it's just . . . I've never told anyone about it."

"Really . . . Nobody asked about it? Not a wife or girlfriend or anybody?"

"Nope," John confirmed shaking his head. He didn't want to admit that most women he slept with often didn't stay the night. Not that he slept around. It's just that he had never got close enough to a woman to consider sharing an apartment, not to mention marriage. His choices of professions didn't help. He was home sporadically at best. Truth be told, he hadn't had sex in. . .God, years . . . back before his injury when his life had been a lot simpler, less baggage. He looked back up at her and could feel his whole body heating up. Yes, it definitely had been years. She took another bite. As a blush crept up his face, he decided watching her eat an apple was not a good idea with sex on his mind.

John hoped his face wasn't too tell-tale red as he continued, "Anyway, my dream is that I'm being hanged."

"Well, that's rather disturbing."

"Isn't it?" John agreed turning in his seat and leaning in. It did feel good to finally share the dream. It had always been a mystery to him and he felt silly telling anyone about it, but somehow he didn't feel silly telling her.

"Is it the same each time?"

"For the most part, yes. I am walked up some sort of gallows. It's outside." John paused collecting fleeting images of the familiar yet elusive vision. "It seems so real. I can feel the sun shining down on me. A noose is put around my neck. And the woman's there. She's always there."

She scooted a little closer to John, drawn in by his story. "Who?"

"I don't know. I can't see what she looks like exactly. It's all kind of a blur when I wake up. But her eyes, I can remember them. They're blue and vivid, haunting really."

"How does it end?"

"It ends the same way each time. The wooden trap door opens beneath my feet and I begin to fall. The last thing I hear . . . and I always hear it . . . is the woman screaming."

"Wow, that's pretty freaky."

Great. She thought he was a freak. Well, the way he was babbling on about dreams who could blame her.

"I know it all sounds crazy."

"No, no, not in the least," she reassured scooting a seat closer and placing her hand on his forearm. A light touch, but his heart sped up. "You're not alone, you know . . . with dreams and all."

John raised an eyebrow in question as she went on. "About the time I went away to university, I started having this regular dream, well nightmare to be more exact. . ." She trailed off and looked down with a sudden huff of embarrassment.

"Come on now, I told you mine," John cajoled. "It couldn't be any worse than being executed over and over."

"Right you are," she looked up combing her hair back behind her ears. "It's just like you . . . I've never really spoke of it. Oh, I tried to tell my ex about it the first time it happened after we were married, but he just told me to stop yapping and go back to sleep."

She noticed John's frown. "Mac was a real bastard. It's a wonder we stayed together as long as we did." Embarrassed again, she ducked her head. "Sorry, didn't mean to . . . I'm sure the last thing you want to hear about is my slug soon-to-be ex-husband."

"It's okay. Sometimes we all need to vent." Jesus, where had that come from? John was someone who very much believed in keeping things to one's self. "Now about your dream . . ."

"Yes, my dream. . ." She continued with a grateful smile. He could tell she appreciated his tact concerning her ex. "It starts the same every time. I'm standing at the end of a long corridor. It's rather cavernous and seems to go on forever.

She stopped to laugh, but not a real laugh, more one of confusion. "I can't rightly tell you what is going on. All I know is a man is being taken away from me. I don't know who he is but he's being dragged away by two other men. And . . . and it's devastating to see him go. I can't see his face or make out anything else about him other than he is tall and dark haired, but I know he means something to me."

"And you have no clue who he is?"

"None. I always figured it had to do with some repressed fear of abandonment." At John's confused look, she continued, "My parents died in a car accident when I was five. After that I bounced between relatives until I turned eighteen and went away to school. I never really had a place to call home."

Hurt lingered in her eyes. Everybody had their share of pain. He knew better than most, but his family had never caused him any. He was blessed with amazingly functional and . . . well, normal family. There had been times in the past when he had pushed them away, but he always knew they would be there for him even when he was acting like an ass.

"I'm sorry," he offered what little he could.

"It's okay; it was a long time ago. I really thought the dream had something to do with my parents or maybe even after I got married the fear of Mac leaving me. . . The thing is I left my husband and I couldn't be happier. . ." She spared a smile for John. ". . . but I still have the dream."

"Maybe we'll never know why we have them. I don't think on it too much anymore. The conscious world can be enough to decipher by itself."

She was contemplating again. Another bite. She chewed slowly. The gate area was beginning to fill with travelers.

"You might be right . . ." her voice trailed off. "You do realize we've been talking for some time now. . ." She paused with a grin and added dramatically, ". . . and baring our souls . . . well, at least about dreams and I don't even know your name."

"It's John. John Bates." He held out his hand to her.

She took it. Another time and place flashed through his head. He was there. So was she. In a stairwell . . . no, not in one . . . near one. It was her. Most definitely her. Her arms were full, but she still managed to shake his hand.

"And I'm Anna Smith."

Anna. Her name was Anna.

He held her hand in a bit longer than customary but neither seemed to mind. An attendant's voice came over the speaker in a language John could only assume was Romanian. They jumped apart at the sound. People around them began to gather their bags. The announcement was repeated in English. First class passengers were to begin boarding.

"I guess that's me." John stood up and gathered his carry-on bag.

"You're in first class?"

"It's one of the few luxuries I indulge in," John admitted, but he wasn't going to tell her the real reason behind such a splurge. Two hours in coach and his side would be aching for the rest of the day.

Anna stood up too and threw her apple core in a nearby trashcan, as John slung his bag over his shoulder.

"Well. . ." she began turning back to face him with a grin.

"Well. . ." he followed suit.

"It was lovely chatting with you."

"You make for exceptional company. And thanks for the mini-rolls."

"It was nothing. A small compensation for listening to me ramble about hotels, ex-husbands and crazy dreams."

John lips curved up. "Have a good flight, Anna."

"You too."

With one last look, one last smile, he began to walk towards the gate.

"John. . ." he heard her call out.

Her voice stopped him in his tracks before he even knew what he was doing. Turning around, Anna was a few feet in front of him.

"I just want to say. . . " She rocked nervously from foot to foot before looking him straight in the eye. ". . . I know we'll not see each other again, but when you go back to Afghanistan . . . please be careful . . . or else I'll worry."

"Well, we can't have that." His face lifted in a half smile. "If it will ease your mind, I promise to be extra cautious next time I go over."

"Thanks. It does make me feel better."

Before he could turn away, she reached up and kissed his cheek. John swore his heart skipped a beat from the brief brush of her lips.

This time she let him go. He handed his boarding pass to the attendant and started down the jetway. All he could think as he walked along was . . . God, she had the most amazing blue eyes.

* * *

**A/N: Yep, you read that right. John is an American. I hope that's not too sacrilegious. But trust me, there is a reason for everything in this story. **

**Astute reader challenge: What is the significance of the day they met? **


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: So sorry that it took so long to update this story! I was incredibly heartened by the response to the first chapter—thank you so much for all the lovely reviews. The holidays were crazy busy (Happy New Year!) and my writing came to stand still, but I did always have this story in the back of my mind.**_

_**Congrats to everyone that got last chapter's astute reader question correct—yes, the day modern John and Anna met was the 100**__**th**__** anniversary of their initial meeting at Downton. And yes, to everyone that mentioned it was also tax day in the US, John did file his taxes on time. We can't have him going to jail for tax evasion. He served enough time in his previous life. **_

_**Finally, thanks to Ephoard for helping me a while back brainstorm modern John's literary and musical tastes!**_

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**Chapter 2:**

Anna hated flying. Even though she traveled two to three times a month, she couldn't stand it. She liked to be in control of her surroundings. Maybe it stemmed from the lack she had over her familial situation growing up or perhaps it came from her dysfunctional marriage, but Anna didn't want to hand the keys over to anyone in her life. She needed to be in charge every step of the way. And at twenty thousand feet she most definitely was not in control.

She settled down into the window seat and took her iPhone out of her bag. Some music might calm her nerves before take-off. She briefly looked over at the twenty-something looking student who was placing his beat-up backpack in the overheard compartment above her. A thread of disappointment coursed through her. Normally, she paid scant attention to her seatmate, no more than a smile and a brief hello, but she couldn't help thinking how much she would rather be sitting next to someone else on this flight.

John Bates. That's what he said his name was. He was . . . intriguing. She couldn't help being captivated by him and she wasn't exactly sure why. Maybe it was because he was American, but Anna had never particularly been attracted to Americans before. Or maybe it was because he was older. Without a doubt he had some years on her. The crow's feet coming from the corners of his eyes gave him a weathered, yet distinguished look. And despite his attempt to brush of her admiration, Anna was still quite impressed with what he did for a living. He was a fascinating man, but that wasn't all.

There was something more; a familiarity about him that she couldn't place. She spent the first ten minutes of their conversation racking her brain trying to figure out if they had met before. There was just such an unexpected ease between them. Anna prided herself in being friendly with all, but she didn't usually divulge her personal life to mere acquaintances, not to mention strangers. Somehow he had made it so easy. Dear god, had she really prattled on about that old dream . . . and her marriage to Mac?

She could feel her face flush at the thought. He must think her crazy going on about her ex. She turned and rested her forehead on the window. The glass immediately cooled her heated face. She felt the university student sit down in the seat next to her. As she began to put in her ear buds, she caught her seatmate out of the corner of her eye.

The twenty-something was nowhere to be seen. In his place with a slight, almost nervous smile sat none other than man occupying her thoughts.

"What? . . . How did you?" Anna stumbled over her words.

"Call it a random act of kindness. Just thought that kid might enjoy a flight in first class."

All she could do was stare. Words were having trouble forming as her mouth hung open. It must have unnerved John.

"You don't mind, do you?"

"Of course not." A smile began to split her face as the use of the English language returned to her. "That is if you don't mind giving up several inches of leg room."

"I think I can manage," John assured her as he settled more into his seat.

Lord, she could swear his eyes were twinkling. How she wished had more experience with men. She was twenty eight years old and had no idea how to handle a man flirting with her . . . if that was indeed what he was doing. She wasn't even sure. She had been so young, barely nineteen, when she met Mac. He had been her first and only real romance. It had seemed so right at the time, but now she wondered if she had been fooling herself from day one, just looking for someone one to love her . . . to fill the empty holes in her life.

But if she learned anything from her disastrous marriage it was that she didn't need to be in relationship to be whole. She could be happy and well-adjusted and . . . single. Of course, not if her best mate Lynnie had her way. Ever since Anna left Mac, her friend had been on a mission to fix her up which was rather ironic since Lynnie prided herself as a dyed-in-the-wool feminist. Yet when it came to romance, she turned into a gooey puddle of _EastEnders_. Sure, on the surface, Lynnie understood Anna's need to be on her own, but it didn't stop her from trying to drag her out to the clubs each Friday night in search of true love.

Anna didn't want to go clubs. Heck, she hadn't wanted to go to clubs when she had been eighteen. Besides she'd wager that true love was rarely found there. All she wanted to do was concentrate on building her career. Not only was it an area of her life she felt in complete control, she was damn good at what she did. She excelled in her current position; possessing an uncanny knack for determining which properties showed the most promise. Her tireless hours working her way up the ladder at Concord Hotels was beginning to pay off. There was talk that the company was going to expand and open up offices both on the continent and in America. Anna didn't want to miss out on such opportunities if they should come about. The last thing she needed was a man to muck up her plans. But heaven help her, she couldn't deny that her heart started beating double time the moment John sat down next to her.

Before they could talk anymore the pre-flight safety video began and the plane's engines rumbled to life. Anna's heart sped up even more, this time from pure adrenaline. God, she hated to fly. She took a firm hold of the armrests and closed her eyes wishing herself to calm down.

"Not a fan of flying?"

Anna's eyes fluttered open. "Is it that obvious?"

"Well, you do have the armrests in a death grip."

She puffed a little laugh, "I'll be better once we get up and level off."

The plane began to taxi down the runway. Anna held her breath. Takeoff was the worst. She noticed John had moved his hand next to hers. She had an irrational urge to take hold of it. Cripes! What was she thinking? She had just met this man.

"You know. . ." John began as the plane lifted off the ground.

"I know, I know . . . flying is the safety mode of travel. I've it heard it all before," Anna interrupted on an unsteady breath.

"That is true, but I was actually thinking about the pilots."

"The pilots?"

"When it comes to flying you're in good hands because the pilots know what they're doing."

"Well, I certainly hope so," Anna huffed turning to look at John momentarily forgetting her fear.

"Yes, but what I meant to say is most pilots, at least on American and European flights, are former military. Not only do they possess expert flying skills, but they know all about the mechanics. Trust me, I knew enough pilots in the Navy to know that there was no way they would get into a plane unless they believed it to be in good working order."

Anna reflected on his words as the plane reverberated gaining altitude; the ascent barely noticeable. "I suppose I never thought of it that way."

"And most of these guys depending on their age have seen some sort of combat. So after that flying a big bus with wings with nobody shooting at them is a piece of cake."

She wasn't sure if it was what he was saying or the warmth of his voice, but Anna did feel measurably better. The stress in her shoulders was dissipating. By the time the plane began to level out, her breathing was almost back to normal.

She heard a sharp ding. The all-clear was given to move around the cabin. Traditionally, this was Anna's cue to relax. Funny, John's presence had already settled her quite a bit.

"Thanks for keeping up the conversation. I fly all the time, but I still manage to get a bit frantic when we lift off. Plus I just read an article this morning about the big anniversary. Didn't exactly bolster my confidence in traveling."

"Anniversary?"

"Oh, you probably didn't hear about it . . . of course you didn't hear about it, you've been living in Afghanistan for heaven's sake." At his confused look, she continued, "Today is the one hundredth anniversary of the Titanic sinking. It's was a quite a big deal in Britain with lots of new stories, even a new cheesy TV mini-series."

"So you were afraid our plane would sink . . . I mean, crash today?" A small grin formed and damned if his eyes weren't twinkling again. She wasn't sure if John thought her truly a dolt or if he was just engaging in good-natured teasing.

"I think we'll make it," Anna answered laughing. "But thanks to you take-off wasn't so bad. Usually my music is all I have to calm my nerves before a flight and I have to turn it off before actually taking off."

John nodded down at her phone. "So what do you like to listen to?"

"What? When I'm flying?"

John shrugged. "Flying or in general?"

Feeling a bit off-guard and flustered, Anna just handed over her phone to him.

"Here have a look yourself."

The phone was small in his big hands and his fingers moved clumsily over the screen.

"I'm not sure I know what I'm doing. I'm a bit of a technophobe."

Anna had to grin at his technological insecurity. "Oh, you're doing just fine."

After getting the hang of the touch screen, John began to peruse her music looking over occasionally. Now it was her turn to feel apprehensive. She tried hard to remember what artists and songs she had downloaded. She only listened to it on flights and sometimes on the tube to and from work.

He kept scrolling. One eyebrow was now raised along with a ghost of a smile. Oh jeez, what did she have on her playlist?

"Well, you seem rather fond of Alanis Morrisette."

Anna rolled her eyes. "That's the work of my best mate. After I left my husband, she thought I might become so depressed I'd go back with him. So she downloaded all the Alanis Morrisette man-hating music she could find to make sure I would never ever consider getting back with Mac." She shook her head. "Not that it was necessary. There was no way I could after what he did."

God, had she really just said that? Anna could tell John wanted to ask what. Those green eyes of his beckoned her. In some ways, it'd be nice to lay it all out. But no . . . she just met this man. He didn't want to hear about it. He didn't care. Why would he? She looked into his eyes again. Maybe . . . he did care.

She shook her head. "Sorry, more rambling."

"No, it's all right." John had turned back to phone. "Now Norah Jones that seems more you."

"I do fancy her music. She's sort of a throwback to an earlier time."

"I agree. Her music is smooth . . . natural . . . classy. It fits you."

Her face began to redden. She couldn't even remember the last time a man's words made her blush. Okay, enough of this. She couldn't stand being the center of discussion.

"All right, Mr. Bates," she teased taking a formal tone. "You know all about my musical tastes. How about yours?"

He paused for only a moment. She could almost see the wheels at work in his mind before nodding and giving back her phone, "Fair is fair."

John dug reached into the inner pocket of his cargo jacket and pulled out a first generation iPod. Anna hadn't seen one of those since her university days.

"Wow, I didn't know anyone still used those." She couldn't help remarking as John handed it over to her.

"I told you I was a bit of a technophobe. My sister gave it to me while I was on active duty and deployed for long stretches. It still works, so I never really saw the need to upgrade."

Anna was heartened by his modest explanation. So many people these days had to have the latest gadget, the newest technology. Mac had certainly been that way. For him it had represented status, a place in society, even if they didn't have the resources to buy such items. Perhaps it was because John was older, but whatever the reason she respected his thrift and common sense.

She took a second to familiarize herself with the click wheel before beginning to investigate his choices.

"Johnny Cash. . . Bob Dylan . . . A big fan of the Beatles, I see."

"I am. Aren't all you Brits?"

"I like them well enough. Just before my time that's all." As soon as the words left her mouth, Anna winced. She hadn't meant to imply anything about his age.

"Well, I wouldn't exactly call them contemporaries either. I was still in diapers when they broke up."

"Of course you were," Anna agreed looking back down at the iPod quickly completely missing John's bemused look. "Oh, you even have some of their more obscure songs on here. I absolutely adore _Across the Universe_."

"Me too," John agreed turning a bit in his seat to face here more easily. "There's just something about that song . . . even with John's bizarre chorus."

"More of a Paul fan, huh?"

"Definitely. Don't even get me started on Yoko Ono."

Anna couldn't help giggling. John was just so different from the men she knew. Not just Mac, but also the guys she went to university with or worked in her office. He was pleasant, polite, intelligent, so easy to talk with and . . . rather good looking if she was being completely honest with herself, but also there was a maturity that wasn't often seen in men (if she could even call them that) her own age.

She continued down his playlist. "Miles Davis. I've never really listened to much jazz before."

"His music is amazing, but mostly I listen to it when I have trouble sleeping."

"Because of your dream?"

"Among other things," John confirmed looking away. He was hiding something. She had caught a glimpse of it earlier in the airport when she had asked about what he did for a living. He was definitely guarded, but it was more than that. There was sadness lingering. It might be firmly buried, but it was there. Even though she had only known him for a short time, she knew he had secrets. Ones he had never shared with anyone. Ones he was ashamed to share with anyone.

Anna shook her head. _Snap out of it, Anna._ Dear god, there she went again. She didn't know this man from Adam. How silly of her to presume anything about his personal life.

"About made it to the end?"

At the sound of John's voice, she returned her attention to the iPod. "Yes, just about."

She kept scrolling. Her finger paused and a chuckle escaped followed by a full belly laugh.

"What is it?"

"Well, I never would have pegged you listening to _The Sound of Music_."

John joined in her laughter but she couldn't help notice his cheeks and ears were turning slightly pink. His embarrassment was endearing. "What can I say, my mother was an English teacher and directed all the school plays and musicals. I was subjected to Broadway indoctrination at an early age."

"I'm just having a hard time imaging you as a burly soldier in some dangerous place listening to "_I am Sixteen Going on Seventeen_."

John still smiled, but his eyes were sad again. "Just shows you things aren't always as they appear.

She got the feeling he wasn't just talking about musical preferences.

* * *

Anna couldn't remember a flight she enjoyed more. They had kept up an easy patter of conversation. Nothing too serious, just friendly chatting. He shared the mini-rolls and she offered up some crisps from her bag. Her face was actually sore from smiling so much, but she didn't mind. She hadn't felt this light and . . . well, happy in months. Being thousands of feet off the ground wasn't even a concern. John's company was making the flight go extremely fast. She had already felt the plane begin to drop in altitude in preparation for landing.

She looked over as John shifted uncomfortably in his seat, raising both arms over his head stretching out his long torso. Lord, he was a large man. As he twisted a bit, she saw him grimace. He couldn't be comfortable. Not with his six foot plus frame all scrunched up. It also didn't help that the man in front of him had his seat reclined back all the way.

"John, why don't you switch seats with me? You'd be much more comfortable." The lady in front of her still had her seat in the upright position.

"Nah, I'm fine," he waved her off.

"No, you're not. You were supposed to have a pleasant flight in first class, not stuffed in coach."

"No really, I'm fine."

"John Bates, I will not take no for an answer."

Anna stood up and waited for John to follow suit. He stared hard at her seemingly weighing his options, and then briefly surveyed the cabin. With a sigh of defeat, he stood up.

"You don't give up, do you?"

"Never," she retorted with a grin.

But the grin rapidly vanished from her face as he eased behind her, his front to her back, to reach the window seat. His chest was hard against her and his breath hovered above. It smelled of chocolate, obviously from the mini-rolls, but with a hint of peppermint. Even though she knew he was out of his seat and into hers in a matter of a few seconds, time slowed for Anna.

With John seated, she took his old one. It was warm and comfortably used. She observed John as he gave his legs a good stretch while glancing out the window. She was still watching him when he turned back to her. Instead of the friendly face she had grown accustomed to, John had a more serious countenance.

"What is it, John?"

He paused before shaking his head. "Nothing . . . really. It's just we're flying awfully low even though we're still a ways from London."

"Oh god, something's wrong," Anna worried taking hold off the armrests again.

"We're probably just avoiding turbulence or something like that. I'm sure it's alright." John tried to reassure but Anna noted he didn't look her in the eye.

"Except you're not sure. . ."

Before he could answer, the sound system crackled to life.

"This is your captain speaking. I'm afraid we've run into some trouble. . ."

"Christ! We're going to die. It's just like the bloody Titanic," Anna squawked and took hold of John's hand as the pilot continued.

"As you might have noticed we're flying at a lower altitude. That's because we're being forced to by a natural occurrence out of our control."

There was a nervous murmur around the plane. Anna closed her eyes. This wasn't happening. She couldn't die. Not now when she was finally pulling her life together. Not now when she had so many opportunities in front of her. Before she could go into full panic mode, she felt a gentle but strong squeeze from the hand she held.

"You might recall a few years back that a volcano in Iceland erupted sending dangerous ash into the atmosphere and effectively halting all air travel for a while. Well . . . it's happened again. After we became airborne, the same volcano . . . and please don't ask me to pronounce it . . . erupted. The volcanic ash can be extremely hazardous if it makes its way into the plane's engine. The ash most likely hasn't made its way this far east yet, but we're not taking any chances. Since the risk is usually greater at higher altitudes, we've lowered our flying altitude. We should now be able to avoid the ash and land in London without any problems."

A general sigh of relief filtered through the cabin. A thumb ran over her fingers gently. Anna opened her eyes and found John with one of those half smiles of his. Anna briefly wondered how she could already know his smiles, but somehow she did.

"Now for the bad news. The Civil Aviation Authority has cancelled all flights in and out of the UK for the foreseeable future. Most likely a least a week since that's how long air space was closed during the last eruption. So if London wasn't your final destination, you now have an unexpected holiday there. We'll keep you posted for any further developments. We should be putting down in about forty minutes. Thanks so much for your patience."

"Looks like my layover will be longer than I thought," John quipped. His hand still firmly held Anna's. She wanted to remove it . . . but not just yet. "Although a much better scenario than the plane crashing."

"Indeed it is." She shyly disentangled her hand from his and pushed her hair behind her ears. "Thank you for your calming presence once again."

"Not a problem. You had every right to be alarmed."

"But still . . ." Anna shook her head slightly in embarrassment and giggled. "Did I really say something like 'we're going down like the Titanic'?"

She could tell John was trying to hold back a laugh and doing a poor job of it. "Well, all I can say, if we had been going down I couldn't want for a better seatmate."

Anna's heart fluttered at his simple words.

* * *

Suitcases dropped onto the luggage carousel with soft thuds. Anna scanned for her black bag with its purple tag, but she wasn't looking too hard. She was more concerned with him and what she was going to say to him.

They had parted back at customs; her queue much shorter than the one for non-nationals. They could have said their goodbyes right then and there, but before he could say anything she told him she'd meet him in the baggage claim area and scurried off.

She just wasn't ready to see him walk out of her life. John Bates was the most fascinating person she had meet in a long time. Once she had gotten over the initial shock that she wasn't going to die in some fiery crash, Anna began to wonder what John was going to do now that he was marooned in London. Did he know anyone in the city or the whole of England for that matter? Would he even want to see her again? Spending a couple hours on a plane was one thing, seeing somebody in the real world was another thing all together.

She spied her bag hit the carousel and readied herself to yank it off. Just as she took hold of it and began to pull, a large hand joined hers on the handle.

"Let me."

"Thank you," Anna looked over her shoulder at John. "Did you have any trouble getting through customs?"

"A little."

"Why is that?"

"Anytime you travel to Afghanistan it raises flags."

"But you work for a relief charity. Surly they didn't think you were a terrorist."

"Ultimately no, but that's the problem. What does a terrorist look like? Young or old? Man or woman? Dressed a certain way? Does reality match our stereotypes?

John's questions were hypothetical, but Anna sensed there was a deeper implication to his words that she wasn't privy to. She began to wonder how familiar he was with terrorism. What exactly had he done in the military?

"Well, I'm hoping you're not one because there's something I'd like to ask you." Anna licked her lips before continuing. "What are your plans now that you're stuck here?"

"Oh, I don't know. I suppose get a room at one of the hotels near the airport if they have space. I didn't bring much work with me, so I guess I'll just relax and read some."

"I was thinking . . . "Anna took a deep breath and screwed up the courage. If there was one thing that could be said about her it was once she decided to do something she didn't back down.

A long second passed as John gave her a part quizzical, part encouraging look.

"I was thinking. . ." she began again. ". . .you could stay with me while there's no flights."

His face was unreadable except for a small flicker of emotion in his eyes. There was surprise there. Also warmth with a hint of melancholy.

"I couldn't possibly impose like that."

"You wouldn't be at all," Anna insisted. He was shaking his head. "Really, I want you to."

"But you've got a busy job and life. You don't need a houseguest getting in your way."

"You wouldn't be in the way." She began to dig her feet in. "You're stuck in the city for at least a week. Why stay in a dreary hotel by the airport? I have an extra bedroom with a perfectly comfy futon."

"Anna, I don't know if it would be right. . ."

Her frustration was beginning to bubble. "Look John, I don't go around inviting men to my flat every day. In fact, I've never done it before. I didn't mean to imply. . ."

"I never thought that you did. Anna, I . . ."

She needed to press her case and Anna believed in honesty. "The truth is I'd like to see you some more . . . before you head home."

John was silent. He just stared at the circling luggage for a few seconds before facing her.

"I'd like to see more of you too," he shyly acknowledged. "Okay, I accept your offer."

"Oh, fantastic!"

"But I insist that you let me pay you. . ."

"Unheard of. You're my guest, not a boarder."

"How about groceries?" John suggested as he grabbed his suitcase off the carousel. "Or maybe take care of meals? I'm actually a half decent cook."

"Well. . ." Anna hedged as he grabbed both their suitcases and they headed for the exit. "I may take you up on the cooking."

"You don't like to cook?"

"Let's just say, I don't spend too much time in the kitchen. You might need to run to the store. Currently, all that's in the refrigerator is hunk of cheese and a jar of marmalade." Anna grinned mischievously before adding, "But there are plenty of snacks in the cupboards."

* * *

It was late afternoon before they arrived at her flat. By the time they got their baggage and made their way on the tube, it was lunchtime. Given the lack of provisions in her refrigerator, Anna suggested they stop at one of the local pubs for their midday meal. For the next few hours with their luggage at their feet, John and Anna relaxed and began to really get to know one another.

Anna was a little nervous walking John into her place. It wasn't spacious, not like the one she had shared with Mac, but it was homey and served all her needs. She led him past the tiny living room/dining room to the extra bedroom that served as her office if she ever had a yearning for an actual desk, usually she just sat in bed with her laptop. Besides the computer desk, there was a small dresser and the futon.

"Well, here it is. It's not huge, especially by your American standards, but hopefully it's comfortable."

"It's just fine, Anna. Thanks."

She walked over to the futon and began to unfold it.

"Shall I give you a hand?"

"Ah, would you. It takes half the time with two."

In the moment that it took for him to cross the room, Anna saw another room. The morning sun shone through large windows. John was there. Talking with her. Helping her. There was more being said than the actual words spoken.

After getting the mattress in place Anna retrieved some fresh sheets and a comforter. She set them down on the futon and walked over to John who had just opened his carry-on bag.

"Well, I'll leave you be. Unfortunately, I've got to get some work done. I present my findings on the Romanian estate tomorrow. Feel free to watch the telly in the living room or use the computer in here if you want to go online."

"Thanks, I appreciate it, but I think I'll just take it easy and read a bit." He nodded down to a small pile of books he had pulled out of his bag. On top lay Kerouac's _On the Road_. She craned her neck a little to read the spine of the other two. _To the Lighthouse_ by Virginia Woolf and Thoreau's classic _Walden_. A curious lot indeed.

"You know, they do make e-book readers. They're a might easier when traveling."

"I've already told you about me and my dubious relationship with electronics. But it's more than that, there's something about holding a book in your own two hands. The weight of it. The feel of each page beneath my fingertips. The smell sometimes new, sometimes musty. Cracking the cover for the first time. A heady feeling, really. One I wouldn't want to give up."

God help her, but Anna's mind was wondering to places it shouldn't. Surely he didn't mean anything suggestive by his words. She flushed and looked down to the dresser where John had emptied his pants pockets. Beside a wallet and a pile of change lay a shiny gold pocket watch. She picked it up. She couldn't help herself. It called to her.

"May I?" With his nod, she lifted it up for closer inspection.

"It's beautiful, John."

It was heavier than she thought. Warm to her touch; his body heat still radiated from it. On the outside an ornate "JB" was etched in the gold. She opened it up to find more engravings.

_**With all my love. **_

_**Christmas, 1915**_

She was touched by the humble words. They rang true in her heart, her memory. She did not know why but they did.

Nodding at the inscription. "Has this watch been passed down through your family?"

John shook his head. "You'd think so, but no. It actually came to me by way of an elderly neighbor who died when I was just a kid. She had been fond of me and my sister. By chance she shared the same last name. I don't know; maybe that's why she liked us so much. Either way, she didn't have any family so when she passed away she willed the watch to me and some jewelry to Susan."

He paused for a second as if deciding how much he wanted to share, but as Anna shut the watch he continued, "I'm not sure how it happened exactly but it became my good luck charm. I carried it with me for every mission I ever went on in the Navy. I carry it now when I'm working in Afghanistan. It's gone everywhere with me."

His eyes lost focus and his voiced sounded sad. "Not that everything I've seen has been good, but I always made it out alive. I know it's silly to hold superstitions, but I can't help but put that watch in my pocket every day."

Anna wanted to ask about what he had seen, but knew now wasn't that time. She handed him the watch and couldn't help but hold her breath as his fingers brushed hers. Something was happening here. She wasn't sure exactly what, but something.

She backed out of the room before she could do or say anything she would regret.

"Well, have fun reading. I was thinking we might order some Chinese take away for dinner considering the current state of my refrigerator."

"Sounds great. I could go for some moo goo gai pan. But tomorrow leave the meal up to me. I think you'll be in for a surprise."

As Anna left the bedroom, she wondered what else about John might surprise her. He had secrets; she was sure of it. But whether he would choose to share those secrets with her . . . well, that she was not sure of at all.

* * *

_**A/N: Astute reader question: What are Lynnie and Mac's identities in the past? Any guesses? Since this is the first "mystery" I've ever written, I'm curious if I am presenting too much, too little, just the right amount of information as the story progresses. Would love your feedback!**_

_**Hope you enjoyed it! I'll try not to take so long between chapters next time. **_


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: This is a rather mammoth chapter. I had considered chopping it in half, but it just didn't feel right. I always envisioned it as a single chapter. So here you go. . .**

**As you will see in this chapter many of you did correctly identify Lynnie's character in our Astute Reader Challenge! Mac's identity was more elusive, but we will meet him next chapter. I was asked by several folks about a prize for the Astute Reader Challenge . . . Suggestions? :)**

* * *

**Chapter 3: **

_Such a delicious weight. He was trying to not crush her, but she didn't mind. They had waited so long. His chest was flush against her. Coarse hair pricked at her breasts. All she could do was whimper. _

"_God Anna, what you do to me," he nuzzled against her collarbone. _

_Her hands ran up and down his back. . . a broad back, wide shoulders . . . into his hair . . . pulling him closer. _

"_Please . . ."_

_His lips trailed down one side of her neck and up the other. Hers brushed across his stumble. He hadn't shaved since the beginning of the day. Their wedding day. _

_Meeting her mouth, "I don't want to hurt you."_

"_You could never hurt me . . ." She opened her legs even wider. The satin sheets were cool, her body heated. Finest sheets she had ever slept on. She bucked up and rubbed against him. _

_He was hard, probing her. He pushed himself onto to his elbows. Sought her eyes. Sought permission. _

_She didn't have to say anything. Just a small nod of the head, a nervous smile. _

"_I love you Anna." His eyes dark, hungry, loving. _

_A single thrust and a strangled cry. She was now his in every way. Body and soul . . . now and forever._

* * *

Anna's eyes fluttered open. Her heart was racing. She had kicked off all her covers. She found herself alone in bed.

Jeez, she couldn't remember the last time she had a dream of the sexual variety. And this one was like none other. Her head was spinning and her body literally quaked with the aftershocks of making love. She closed her eyes in embarrassment at how real the dream seemed. It's not like she even enjoyed sex.

She looked over at the clock on her nightstand. 5:13 am. She didn't need to be up for at least another hour and half; maybe two hours if she just grabbed a piece of toast and ate on the way to work. That of course assumed there was any bread in the kitchen.

Her mouth was exceedingly dry. She wasn't sure if it was from the dream or not, but Anna needed to get something to drink. With bleary eyes, she softly padded across the hall yawning as she went.

When she reached the tiny bathroom's door, she was still not awake enough to wonder why it might be closed. She just nudged it open with her shoulder.

"Bloody hell!" The vanity lights above her mirror blazed. She immediately shut her eyes to ward off the sting of brightness. She took a step back in surprise and banged her body back into the door frame. Her head hit sharply against the wood. "Oww!"

"Anna, are you okay?"

It was at that moment Anna became aware that she was not alone. She slowly opened her eyes. First one eye, then the other. As she began furiously blinking to adjust to the light, he came into focus.

Her mind was slowing surfacing from sleep. Yes, that's right. She remembered now. She had a guest . . . the American . . . John.

As if the stumbling into the bright lights hadn't been shocking enough, Anna's mouth dropped open at the sight in front of her. John stood in nothing but a bath towel wrapped around his waist. One of her towels. Her heart stuttered at the sight. His hair was damp and shaving cream masked part of his face. He still held his razor in hand.

"Are you alright?" He anxiously asked taking a step closer.

"I'm fine, really," she assured him as she brought a hand up to rub the back of her head. She met his eyes and attempted a smile. It was at that moment she knew it was him. He was the man from her dream. Christ, she had just met this man and she was having a sex dream about him. What the hell was wrong with her?

Her cheeks flamed and she averted her eyes. As they traveled downward, Anna couldn't help but catch a glimpse of John's bare torso. Her embarrassment instantly evaporated replaced with overwhelming compassion.

"My God, what happened John?"

From just under his right side armpit down to where the towel met his hip, his skin was a map of angry pink and white scars. They crisscrossed in a puffy, uneven design. She was mesmerized. She couldn't look away.

"A souvenir from my service," John simply stated. She didn't know if he spoke the words with malice. She didn't think so, but she couldn't be sure without looking him in the face and at the moment her eyes were glued to his body.

Unconsciously, she raised a hand and took a step closer. With little more than a foot between them, her hand inched forward. Ever so softly she ran her fingertips across his mangled skin.

"Anna . . . please," he rasped on an uneven breath as his eyes shuttered closed at her touch.

After several long seconds, John set his razor down and covered her hand with his removing it from his side, but he didn't let go. He continued to hold her fingers entangling them with his.

"Does it hurt?"

"From time to time," he sighed and dropped her hand. Turning his back to her, he grabbed a washcloth and wiped his face.

Anna felt awful. Just yesterday he had given up his seat first class to sit like cattle in coach. His side must have been killing him by the time they landed. She had noticed him stretching out his arms and twisting some as they made their way from Heathrow, yet he never once complained. Guilt ran rampant through her, but at the same time Anna couldn't help being flattered that John would sacrifice his comfort just to sit next to her.

"I'll be done in a few minutes and get out of your way. I wasn't sure when you normally got up in the morning."

"Take your time. I don't need to be up and going for a while." Anna now remembered why she was standing in the bathroom in the first place. "I just wanted a drink of water." _Because I just had the most amazing erotic dream . . . with you in it. _

She flushed at the memory and bowed her head shyly. Without looking at John, she reached up and opened the medicine cabinet. With nervous hands, she retrieved a tumbler and turned on the faucet. She gulped down half a cup in a single swallow.

"Well, it's all yours again." She turned to leave when she heard his voice behind her.

"I hope you can manage to get back to sleep."

As she wandered back to her room and climbed into bed, Anna had her doubts. Her mind was too much of a jumble to settle down. She closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep, but the vision of John, half-naked and injured, was keeping her very much awake.

* * *

John poured himself another cup of coffee. His third of the morning. He didn't feel truly himself until about that third cup. He knew it was a form of addiction but unlike others he had been acquainted with it was one that he could live with.

He had managed only a few hours of rather crappy sleep. God, his side was aching, but he didn't have anything to take for the pain. More correctly, he wouldn't allow himself to take anything even if it was available. So he had decided to get an early start. A long, hot shower often did a world of good. He was feeling much better by the time he got out and started to shave. Then he was shaken to his core.

She had stumbled into the tiny bathroom, which was no bigger than a closet, and banged herself good against the door frame. He instinctively took a step forward. Her welfare mattered to him beyond any normal reason and he wasn't sure why, but it did.

She looked adorable half-awake in an old t-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms, hair mussed up. Seeing her stand before him was enough of a shock; then she touched him. A current flooded his body from head to toe. John wasn't a vain man, but he wasn't particularly thrilled with Anna seeing much less touching his scars. She would have questions; ones he wasn't sure he was ready to answer.

To clear his mind after their early morning encounter, he headed out to the corner store that they had passed the afternoon prior on the way to her place. He had looked high and low in her kitchen, but no coffeemaker or _even_ instant coffee could be found. Plenty of tea bags and a few bottles of sparkling water. For the life of him, he could not understand the appeal of tea, such a watery concoction. Robert had tried hard to convince him to drink it of a morning, but it just didn't deliver the jolt that John required to start the day. No, he needed coffee. A trip to the corner store was vital.

Since Anna had given him a key to come and go as he pleased, he didn't have to wake her up to get back in. He returned with not just coffee—unfortunately instant, much to his chagrin—but a bag full of basic provisions: milk, eggs, bread, cheese, some fruit.

He wasn't sure what to expect when Anna got up. John couldn't help but be anxious. Not only had she seen him half-naked, she bore witness to the physical reminders of a painful past . . . no, a shameful past. When she finally poked her head into the kitchen he was taking up breakfast. Nothing was said as their eyes met over the crackling bacon. Her blue depths filled with trepidation.

Then after a long moment her mouth lifted into a small smile. At first he wasn't sure if the smile was for him or the breakfast. Either way, it put him at ease and channeled safety and contentment. And for someone who had lived in dangerous places most of his life, it was an alien feeling. One he hadn't experienced much in his lifetime or at least not since his childhood . . . but he felt it with Anna. He couldn't help but return her smile with one of his own.

At first she had tried to beg off from breakfast claiming she only had time for a piece toast on her way out, but without much cajoling John had her seated with his attempt at a full English breakfast in front of her. As much as John wanted to deny any attraction, he couldn't help but find Anna, dressed in a conservative gray suit and modest pumps, damn sexy. She wore little make-up and her hair cascaded in an even bob just above her shoulders. Her beauty was simple and natural, an incredible turn-on.

After twenty minutes of hearty eating, Anna insisted she had to get to work. On her way out she told him she'd be home around six and that if he needed anything to knock on the door of her neighbor, Lenny, who was always there for her and would be happy to help him.

Now as John sat down in the living room armchair with that third cup of coffee he frowned at the thought of Mr. Always-there-for-her neighbor Lenny. She had never mentioned being involved with anyone and had only spoken of her soon-to-be ex-husband in the past tense. John shook his head. _It's none of your business, man_. He had no right or reason to concern himself with Anna's personal life. They were mere acquaintances crossing paths. But damn it, who was this Lenny?

On a sigh John picked up the remote and clicked on the tv. He enjoyed watching local telecasts while traveling. It gave him a sense for where he was. Taking another sip, he put his feet up on an ottoman as Sky News flickered on.

"_In breaking news from Afghanistan, the British and German Embassies in Kabul are under attack along with the headquarters of NATO forces in the area. The extent of the attacks is unknown, but Taliban insurgents are already taking credit calling it the start of their 'spring offensive."_

"Jesus Christ!" John sat up sharply coffee sloshing over the side of the cup.

Setting it down, John retrieved his cell phone. Hell, his battery was dead and he didn't have a charger since he had planned to be back in DC by now. Grabbing Anna's home phone, John began to punch in the international code of Afghanistan; he'd just have to pay her back before he left.

"Hello?" Robert's crisp British accent came over the line. John couldn't help releasing a nervous sigh. It was good to hear his friend's voice.

"Robert, it's me. Is everyone okay?"

"So you've heard." His voice sounded weary. "Dreadful mess, I tell you."

"It's all over the news. Is everything alright at the facilities?"

"Yes, we're all fine. Don't worry, we're taking extra precautions."

As Operations Director of A Mother's Dream, John was in charge of security for the organization. "What sort of precautions? These attacks could spur others across the region. They might easily spread to Kandahar."

"I know, I know," Robert acknowledged. "We cancelled all classes for the next several days and beefed up our local security. I also spoke with Colonel Davidson and he said they would be sending additional patrols by us." Good, Robert had spoken with Davidson. He was in charge of the NATO troops in Kandahar and a man who John liked and trusted. He would do his best to see that no harm came their way. John felt measurably better.

"Okay, that sounds good. I say we play it safe for a while." John paused before adding, "Do you need me to come back?"

"Don't be foolish. We've got things under control. Besides you couldn't possibly get here with the air space closed as it is."

John shook his head. "I forget. . ."

"Along those lines . . . where exactly are you? Is that a UK number you're calling from?"

"I got stuck in London."

"Good Heavens! Where are you staying? I heard it might be a week or more before flights resume. I still know a lot of folks there if you need a place to bunk."

"No, I'm good. A friend is letting me stay with her."

"Her?" Robert asked incredulously. "I didn't know you had any friends in London . . . especially of the female persuasion."

"We met recently," John hedged. "She's just a friend."

"Well, well. Glad to see you taking some initiative."

"She's just a friend," John reiterated before deliberately moving on. "Is there anything that needs to be done that I can do from here?"

"Well, that was an admirable attempt to change the subject. I'll let it go . . . for now," Robert conceded with a laugh. John rolled his eyes. No doubt his friend would conduct a full inquest later. "I think we're fine here, but let Branson know that you're delayed and any press calls dealing with the attacks in Kabul should be forwarded here. We don't need him giving some nonsense response to the press."

"All right. I'll let you go now. Be careful, Robert. Stay safe."

"I'll do my best," Robert pledged before adding, "And John, enjoy your unexpected holiday. You've earned it, my dear fellow."

John thought on his friend's words as he hung up and went to the guest room to boot up the computer Anna said he could use during his stay. He wasn't sure that he had earned the right to anything in life, but he had to admit that he was looking forward to the next few days. There was no where he had to be, no meetings to attend or programs to coordinate, no emails to answer or phone calls to make. Just himself, a pile of books, a fabled city and a lovely lady. John felt strangely invigorated, much younger than his forty two years.

It was too early in the morning to call DC, so John just sent a brief email to TJ Branson telling of his delay and with instructions to not answer any press inquiries. Robert was right; they wouldn't want TJ speaking for the organization. He was fresh out of school, full of fascinating ideas and pure energy. He also was a bit hot-headed and had many crazy, bad ideas floating around in his head too. All in all, John liked the kid. He just needed time to mature.

After sending the email to TJ, he checked his inbox. There sat a Facebook notification that his sister Susan had posted on his wall. John couldn't help but shake his head as he logged in. Lord, how Susan liked to use Facebook. It was her favorite means of communication. The only reason he got an account was so he could communicate with her and see the many pictures that she posted of his niece and nephew. His sister was his one and only "friend".

**Susan Bates Witowski: **

_**Where the hell are you?! Did you get stuck somewhere because of the volcano? Heard about the attacks. Mom's a nervous wreck. Please check in!**_

**John Bates: **

_**I'm fine. I did get stranded in London on the way home. Probably won't get back for another week or until flights start up again. Talked with Robert. All's okay at MD. Please let Mom know I'm alright. Love you all. **_

John was about log out when Susan's immediate response came. Jesus, it was the middle of the night in Chicago. Probably working nights again. Susan was an emergency room nurse at a local hospital.

**Susan Bates Witowski:**

_**London…wow! Doesn't sound like that bad of deal. Do you have a place to stay?**_

**John Bates: **

_**What are you doing up? I thought you swore off night shifts? **_

**Susan Bates Witowski: **

_**I'm on break. The hospital was short staffed. Too good of money to pass up. So do you have a place to stay or what? The news said there was a hotel shortage in a lot of cities. **_

**John Bates: **

_**No hotel. I'm staying with a friend at her flat. **_

**Susan Bates Witowski: **

_**Her? You know a "her" in London? And she's letting you stay at her flat? I need details, little brother. **_

John ran a hand over his face. His sister was as bad as Robert. Maybe he should develop more of a social life just to get them off his back.

**John Bates: **

_**She's just a friend.**_

**Susan Bates Witowski: **

_**Really? What's her name? How long have you known her? **_

John knew it was best to give Susan a little bit of information or she'd go full press on him.

**John Bates: **

_**Her name is Anna and we met recently. I got to go. I'm signed up for a tour of London by bus. Don't want to miss it. Hug the kids for me. **_

A slight guilt warmed over John about lying to his sister, but Susan could be like a dog with a bone when she worked herself up over something. He quickly logged off before he could see if she responded.

He pulled out his pocket watch. It was a quarter after 9am. Better get a move on. There was more grocery shopping to do and he wouldn't mind exploring the city some . . . albeit not by bus.

* * *

John should have known better after his unsuccessful coffee maker search that morning. It was five o'clock and he was about to begin cooking dinner when he discovered to his dismay that Anna didn't own a wok or even a large frying pan. He had walked around her neighborhood quite a bit today. There was a Marks and Spencer not _too_ far away, but by the time he got there and back Anna might already be home. No, he wanted dinner to at least be started when she walked through the door.

She had mentioned he could go to her neighbor Lenny if he needed anything. Perhaps he was more of a cook than Anna and actually owned some pots and pans. In fact, maybe he even cooked meals for Anna. John frowned at the thought. She had said he was always there for her and after looking at the contents of her kitchen, John decided she sure was in need of someone's help.

As he approached the neighboring flat, the simple chords and manic lyrics of the Ramones drummed into the hallway. Not a band that John could listen to every day, but one that he did respect and on occasion relish.

He knocked and waited. And waited. He wasn't sure if he was heard over the driving beat. John raised his fist to knock again when the door swung open. A young woman stood in front of him. She was dressed in black. All black. Black leggings, black t-shirt, black boots. Her eyes were lined with heavy black eye shadow. John supposed she was going for some sort of goth punk look, but what really caught his eye was her hair. It was pixie short and vivid red; the bright color at odds with her ensemble. This girl definitely wasn't Lenny.

"Yeah? Can I help you?"

"Hi there. My name's John and I'm staying next door with Anna for a few days."

"You're staying with Anna? Anna Smith?" The girl's eyes narrowed in either suspicion or disbelief; John wasn't sure.

"One in the same. She's been kind enough to offer up her futon." Seeing the rather confused look on the girl's face John felt the need to elaborate, "I got caught up in the volcano mess and now I'm stuck in London for the week."

"Oh . . . I see." He wasn't sure that she did. She still eyed him with blatant skepticism.

"She mentioned that if I needed anything while she was at work I could knock on your door." The girl continued to stare at him. "Well. . . I was hoping I might borrow. . . that is if you have one . . . a wok."

"A wok?"

"Or maybe just a big frying pan? Anna seems to be a bit lacking when it comes to cookware."

A small smile began to break across the redhead's face. "Ain't that the truth."

She opened up the door. "Come on in. I haven't a wok, but I do have a rather massive skillet."

"Ah, that'd be great. Thanks."

John waited in the small living room as the woman opened and closed cabinets and banged pots in her search. The walls were an outrageous orange and several paintings of brightly colored geometric shapes decorated the walls. The furniture was an eclectic mix: plaid coach, red vinyl chair and a neon green bean bag. He supposed the décor could be considered artsy. Maybe he was getting old, but he felt like he would have a seizure if he stayed there too long.

"So how did you meet Anna?" Her voice carried from the kitchen. Another crash of pots. John winced.

His natural reserve kicked in. He didn't know who this person was other than she appeared to be living with a guy named Lenny next door to Anna. Best not to reveal too much. "We met traveling."

"Oh, you're in the hotel business too?" she asked reappearing from the kitchen.

"No, but I work abroad."

He could see she was confused again, but she walked over anyway and handed him a large frying pan.

"Thank you so much. Now I'll be able to get dinner on the table." The woman smiled at the sentiment.

"That's sweet of you. She's a dreadful cook. Half the time she's knocking on my door offering to do the dishes if I cook the food."

John smiled a bit more. Obviously the woman was a good friend of Anna's. He started to walk to the front door.

As she opened the door for him to leave, John turned and thanked her again. "I really appreciate it . . ." He searched for her name.

"It's Lynnie," she supplied holding out her hand for him to shake.

"You're Lenny?" He puffed in surprise before taking her hand.

"Yeah, who were you expecting? Actually my full name is Gwendolyn, but everyone calls me Lynnie. And who do I have the pleasure of lending my best skillet?"

John couldn't help grinning. "I'm John Bates . . . Well, thanks again. Have a nice evening, Lynnie." He started to walk away.

"Hey," she called after him. "I don't know you from Adam. You seem like a nice bloke . . . cooking dinner and all. It's just after her nightmare of a husband Anna deserves better."

"We're just friends," John reiterated for the third time that day.

Lynnie shrugged. "Whatever the case it'd be nice if some kindness came her way."

* * *

As soon as she opened the door to her flat Anna was engulfed in a warm, exotic aroma; one she wasn't familiar with. It smelled a bit like Indian food . . . but different, sweeter. Not only was the food alien, so was the homecoming itself. Normally, her flat was cold and dark when she walked in. And silent. Alone.

She hung up her coat and deposited her satchel on a living room chair before wandering towards the amazing smells coming from her kitchen. _Who would have thought that possible?_ Anna laughed to herself. The best she ever managed was a marginal beef and kidney pie.

As she peeked into the kitchen, John was concentrating on stirring a thick, sizzling stew-like concoction in a large skillet. He looked relaxed in blue jeans and a faded plaid shirt, but he must have sensed her presence. Even though he continued to mix and turn, his eyes found hers.

"I thought it was you."

"Hello," Anna shyly greeted him. "Wow, whatever you're cooking smells fantastic."

"Thanks. Let's just hope it tastes as good as it smells," he retorted with a small smile.

Her heart quivered and she couldn't help smiling in return. It just came so easily. Everything did with John. The attraction to this man made not only her heart light, but her head. She had never felt anything like this. Certainly not with Mac. Surely it was just simple infatuation.

"Well, I'm going to change out of these clothes. I'll be back in a jiffy and lend a hand." She practically skipped back to her room. She hadn't looked this forward to eating dinner in a long time.

* * *

Anna set the table as John served up the dish he had been cooking on the stove. Funny, she didn't remember having a frying pan that big. Not that she had much cookware to speak of. In addition to cooking not being her strong suit, she had left much behind when she walked out on Mac and it was expensive to replace items. But she didn't mind. Her abandoned possessions were a reasonable price to be rid of him.

She looked up as John set the steaming dish on a towel so as not to ruin the dining room table. She was almost giddy at the simple prospect of sitting down to a home cooked meal. That hadn't occurred regularly since her years living with her grandmother up north. After she died, Anna lived with great aunt Maude who liked to eat dinner in front of the telly watching game shows. When she was put in a nursing home, Anna was then sent to live with her second cousin Lucy and her husband who were in their fifties, childless and quite wealthy. While they were kind enough, they didn't particularly wish to be saddled with a teenager at their age. So they shipped her off to an independent boarding school. There she ate with friends in a large dining hall. Same went for university.

After marrying Mac, she had looked forward to the opportunity to sit down with her husband and over dinner debrief on their day, but such never became a reality. During the early years of their marriage Mac put in crazy hours as a stockbroker working his way up the financial ladder. At the same time, she spent her evenings locked away in the university library working on her graduate degree in business administration. And once Mac made it big so to speak all he wanted to do was eat—and drink—at the local pub when he came home . . . that's if he came home at all.

John brought the last item out, a bowl of very thin bread. They took seats across a small dining room table that was now groaning with food.

"All the food is traditional Afghan. I got lucky at the Pakistani market a few blocks away. They had an incredible selection." He pointed to the bread. "This is lavash. You use this for the base of your meal sort of like a plate. Then you put the rice or chalow as it's called there on top of the lavash. Lastly, you top your chalow with the main dish, qorma shalgham, which is a sweet lamb stew."

Anna shook her head in amazement. "Where did you learn to cook all this?"

"Oh, you pick it up here and there. I became quite skilled during my first tour there when our team was tracking in remote mountains for months on end. We spent a lot of time eating with the locals, earning their trust in hopes that they could lead us to our target."

"Who was your target?"

At John's non-answer, she began to put the pieces together. "Oh my god, you were looking for Bin Laden? Weren't you? Wow, I don't what to say."

"There's nothing to say." His answer quick and dark. "We had a job to do. That's all, nothing more."

At John' sharp tone, Anna fell silent. She was sure there was much more to his words. While most of the time, he seemed the most pleasant, mild-mannered man–good grief, he listened to show tunes—there was another side to John that was gritty and world weary. He had seen horrible things . . . maybe done horrible things. She was sure of it. In all their conversations, he had talked very little about his military service other than that he had been a Navy SEAL and that an injury had forced his retirement. She wanted to know more, but knew he wasn't about to reveal anything else at this moment.

As if trying to lighten the mood, John grabbed the open wine bottle on the table, poured each a glass and asked, "So . . . how long have you lived here? I got a chance to walk around the neighborhood. Nice area, lots of shops and pubs and such."

"It is a rather nice place to live. I've been here almost ten months." July 2nd. The date was indelibly burned into her conscious. As much as she tried, she would never be able to forget what happened. What he did to her. She hated him, but she hated herself more for allowing herself to even be in such a position. It had been 1am when Mac finally passed out in a drunken stupor next to her. Anna blindly dressed and silently filled a single suitcase and walked out of their home never to return.

John dished out food for her and handed over the steaming plate. "Thanks. At first I stayed with my mate, Lynnie, until this flat became available." Anna explained gesturing in the direction of the flat next door. "She lives next door. I believe you met her today."

John's eyebrows raised in surprise. "I did, but how did you know?"

"Oh, Lynnie called me straight away wanting to know why I had a 'strange man' staying with me. Her words not mine, mind you." Anna wasn't going to tell him that Lynnie also thought he was friendly and good looking even if he was old enough to be their father. She knew her friend was exaggerating. John wasn't that old. At least she didn't think he was.

"Isn't that calling the kettle black? I still have a headache from her choice of paint."

Anna chuckled. "Well, Lynnie is an original. She's a web graphic designer, free-lances out of her apartment. She's quite good actually, but what she really wants to do is program computer games." Anna took a bite of the stew and rice. Her taste buds danced.

"Really? Computer games?" John asked in between bites.

"Yeah, but she's having trouble breaking into the field. It's pretty male dominated, but Lynnie's the trailblazer type. She doesn't easily give up. . . .And she's worth her weight in gold as a friend. I don't know what I would have done without her."

God, she felt the familiar prick of tears forming. She thought she was over all this. She had left Mac and once the divorce was final she would never have anything else to do with him. _You are stronger than this_. Anna picked up her wine glass and took a lengthy swig.

Empathy swirled in his green eyes. "I'm glad you had a friend who was there for you. I know how important that can be." He paused with trepidation. "If you don't mind me asking . . . Is your divorce almost complete?"

"Sort of. The thing is Mac doesn't want to be married any more than I do, but he wants to punish me." John's eyes now narrowed. "He's petitioning the court for monthly spousal support."

"He wants you to pay him alimony?" John asked incredulously.

Anna nodded taking another gulp of wine finishing off her glass. Now she was just angry. "He's currently unemployed. The company he worked for tanked in the recession and basically for the last six months he's been sitting on his arse complaining and drinking around the clock. He also says I need to pay him back for all the years he supported me while I was completing my graduate studies."

"Are you going to agree to it?"

"I already have and I let him keep all the possessions in our home, even our car. I just want him out of my life for good."

"So what's holding it up?"

"He's going after the trust fund my parents had sent up through their life insurance. When they died I inherited the fund. I couldn't access it until I turned eighteen. To be honest, I haven't touched it at all. It's not huge, only about ten thousand pounds, but it's my rainy day fund in case I ever. . . I don't know . . . need it. Well, Mac thinks he has a right to that money too."

"What a bastard!" John declared with an intensity that surprised Anna. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to fight him." Anna said with more confidence than she knew she actually possessed. "I can't let him steal it from me. After what I went through with him, he gets to take all that I have left of my parents? It isn't right, John. It just isn't right."

John put down his fork and easily reached across the small table. "Of course it's not right." His hand found one of hers.

Anna shook her head and spoke unconsciously, "I had such high hopes when we got married. I thought I'd finally found a place for myself . . . a person to share it with . . . I don't know, a home I suppose."

"I know what you mean."

"Have you been married before?" The thought had never really crossed Anna's mind. She had just assumed he was a bachelor from everything—which Anna had to admit wasn't much—he had alluded to about his past.

"Yes . . . No, I mean no. I've never been married before, not ever." He shook his head almost as if he was confused himself about his answer. "But I know it's rotten when hopes and dreams are misaligned with reality."

His hand was so warm. She was safe and protected, unafraid to share.

"I'm not sure mine were meant to match up."

"Don't talk like that," he gently chastised. His free hand rose and cupped her cheek. "One thing's for sure they'll never materialize if you quit imagining them.

He gently caressed her cheek. His thumb was rough, but his touch soft. She started to sway forwards; so did John. The table shrank. He wasn't but a few inches away, she could smell the spice on his breath. Her eyes fluttered shut.

The sharp wail of a siren blasted. Anna immediately jumped back out of John's touch. The car alarm echoed from the street. She couldn't look him in the eye. Instead she closed her eyes again to collect herself. A different night hummed through her vision. A dark courtyard, an interrupted kiss. Her eyes snapped open, but the image fled.

John's gaze was fastened upon her. She heart pounded in her chest in time with the car alarm. This-whatever was going on between them-was rocketing out of her control. Way too fast. She reached for her wine glass. Empty.

"Here." John poured another glass for her. She brought it to her lips.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to get me drunk. I'm on my second glass and you haven't touched yours," she teased attempting to lighten the mood.

"Anna, you don't think . . ."

"Of course I don't, you silly beggar." She started back on her meal.

"It's just that . . . well, you see . . ." He nervously glanced up at her and back down.

"Yes?" she encouraged gently, but she couldn't keep the curiosity from her voice. She hadn't seen him stumble for words. Yes, he had been reserved at times, but never anxious.

"I've had trouble in the past with substance abuse."

"Are you trying to tell me that you used to be an alcoholic?"

"No, alcohol was not my vice of choice though I do avoid it because it can lead to other things." He bowed his head weighing his words. Anna took another bite but she hardly tasted it.

"After I discharged from the Navy, I was in really bad shape both physically and mentally. My wounds were taking much longer to heal than the doctors expected. I was in excruciating pain."

"Oh, John . . ."

"It's gotten much better, but I won't lie the first year back was pure hell. Also it wasn't just my body that was a mess." He sighed long and deep, his head now tipped up to the ceiling. "At first I took the meds simply to ease the physical pain. Then I kept taking them to . . . I don't know . . . numb my mind, I guess. To stop thinking . . . remembering . . . all that I had seen, what I had done."

He met Anna's eyes. "The irony is while I did manage to forget everything when I took enough pills, when I came around my despair and misery was even greater. I hated myself and what I had become. So of course the only solution was too take even more pills, more often. Addiction is a brutal cycle; once you're sucked in it's hard to break free.

"So how did you get clean?"

"I have an amazing family. My mom knew something was up. Mothers always do, I suppose. She and my sister flew out to DC and showed up on my doorstep. It's didn't take Susan, my sister, long to figure out what was going on. She's a nurse and had seen addiction before."

"You're incredibly lucky to have people who care so much." Even though Anna didn't envy John's struggles she couldn't help feeling a touch of jealous. No one had ever cared for her like that except maybe her parents and she could barely remember them.

"Don't I know. Not that I was keen on rehab. I fought them every step of the way. It's something I never want to go through again . . . but it was for the best. It wasn't long after that Robert got back in touch with me and offered me the job with the organization he and Cora were starting."

"So you got back on your feet alright?"

"I wouldn't say that. I was still a mess inside . . . maybe not quite as broken, but a mess nonetheless. I still am some days." John picked up his fork again and took a few more bites. "I will always be indebted to Robert though. He took a chance hiring me. Not many folks want to hire someone straight out of rehab."

"You said 'got back in touch', you knew Robert from before?"

"We met during one of my tours in Afghanistan. He was a captain in the British Army."

"He's British?"

"Yes . . . You thought you were my only British friend?" John jested with a slight smile. She blushed. She was beginning to see John as more than just a friend.

"Robert was with a civil affairs unit that was in charge of rebuilding and opening schools. As it turned out they needed extra people who could speak Dari to teach basic literacy classes. I ended up volunteering on my evenings off whenever our team was in Kabul. Robert and I became fast friends."

"We lost touch when his unit went home, but somehow he managed to find me when he and Cora were starting up A Mother's Dream. I didn't have a lot of job opportunities back then, what with my injury, my stint in rehab and no real job experience except sixteen years in the Navy. I owe Robert big time."

Before Anna could comment, the oven timer dinged.

"That would be dessert." John was out of his seat. Anna had a feeling he was done with their current conversation.

She followed him into the kitchen. "I thought I smelled something else cooking."

John pulled out a tray from the oven.

"You made biscuits!"

"These are nothing like those hard as rock things you call biscuits. These, my dear, are genuine Bates secret family recipe chocolate chip cookies."

"Secret family recipe, huh?"

"Well, I called my mother this afternoon to assure her I was okay. She was worried about my whereabouts with the volcano and the attacks in Kabul. I hope you don't mind me using your phone. I'll pay you back for the long distance calls."

"Nonsense. You can use the phone anytime."

"I didn't have a dessert yet for tonight, so while I had her on the line I asked for her cookie recipe."

Anna realized right at that moment she was in trouble. Immense trouble. Her heart turned over at the thought of John calling his mother to tell he was safe and sound and then asking for a recipe . . . for their dinner. It would be so easy to fall in love with him. But Anna knew where loving a man got you . . . even a good man. And hadn't John just confessed to being a recovering drug addict? Now was not the time to become involved with someone, not when she was finally standing on her own. She knew that . . . at least she thought she did.

"They need to cool. Let's finish dinner and then we can have some. I know how you like your sweets."

This man was killing her.

* * *

"That's it." John dried the last plate as Anna let out the dishwater.

She wiped her wet hands on a towel. "Now for some of those renowned cookies."

John picked up the plate of cookies from the counter. "Do you want to eat at the table?"

"No, let's go into the living room where we can be more comfortable. I wouldn't mind putting my feet up. Work was exceptionally exhausting today."

John followed her. "I didn't even ask . . . How did the presentation go?"

"It went well. My bosses agreed with me. The Romanian site is a no-go."

John sat down on the sofa balancing the cookies on his lap. Anna sat down next to him; her legs tucked under her. She grabbed a cookie and took a bite. Soft, gooey and still a little warm. Quite good, even if it was a bit chewy for her tastes.

She glanced over at John. He was thinking again. His demeanor solemn, his head tipped downward. He was a man who did a lot of thinking. Maybe too much. He met her gaze.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to go on about my addiction. I hope you weren't too put off. The last thing I wanted to do was make you feel uncomfortable."

"I wasn't, truly. We all have chapters we would rather keep unpublished, but I feel privileged that you would choose to share something so personal with me."

"You make it so easy to share." He took a cookie, then jumped up and headed for the kitchen. "I almost forgot . . ."

Anna idly picked up the remote and turned the telly on. To be honest, she was out of her element. She and John were friends, no more. What did a man and a woman who were just friends do when spending a night in? If she was with Lynnie, they'd watch some costume drama in their pajamas and binge on her junk food cache. Well . . . there was a plate of cookies, but Anna wasn't ready to parade around in her pajamas in front of John.

She began to flip through stations. A giggle escaped as she found a movie for them.

"You can't fully appreciate the cookies without milk." John came out of the kitchen with glasses in hand. "Found something for us to watch?"

Another giggle. "One of your favorites."

"Oh dear god that's not . . ." John rolled his eyes at the sight of curtain clad children singing. Anna couldn't keep it together; she erupted in laughter.

Taking his seat again, John chuckled himself. "Sure, why not?"

As the Captain began to sing Edelweiss, Anna felt John's arm rest softly above shoulders. Was he making a move or just relaxing and enjoying a campy musical? She stole a glance up at him. He wasn't watching the telly. His eyes were trained on her . . . questioning her. The next move was up to her. He was letting her be completely in control.

Without thought to the consequences that might follow, Anna sat up and reached for another cookie then effortlessly—she was amazed at how easy it was—she nestled up against John's chest. His arm came around her shoulders again and gave a gentle squeeze. Neither said a word. Tomorrow would be soon enough for second thoughts. Contentment flooded her as she nibbled on her cookie and breathed in John's subtle aftershave.

* * *

**A/N: Astute Reader Challenge—I've been trying to use some dialogue from the show (but hopefully not too much where it becomes trite and annoying) to connect the John and Anna's past lives with their present ones. Besides the obvious "silly beggar" line, name another line that I borrowed from the show. **


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: So sorry it took so long to get this next chapter up! The real world keeps butting into my writing time. Grr…**_

_**Yes, many of you did correctly identify the Astute Reader Challenge quotes: "We all have chapters we would rather keep unpublished" (Robert to Carson) and "I thought it was you" (Anna to Bates which coincidentally is my favorite scene in season 2). Good reading everyone! **_

_**Hope you enjoy this chapter . . . we finally meet Mac!**_

* * *

**Chapter 4: **

"_She felt . . . how life, from being made up of little separate incidents which one lived one by one, became curled and whole like a wave. . ."_

John had lost count how many times he had read and reread the start of the paragraph. He had always been fond of Virginia Woolf. Her stream of conscious writing style appealed to him. His busy mind embraced the fluidity. Unfortunately as much as he tried, he just couldn't concentrate.

The irregular patter of an afternoon storm assaulted the flat's windows, but it wasn't the rain that made his mind wander. It was her. He couldn't stop thinking about the young . . . and god, she was young . . . woman who had curled up into his arms the night before.

He wasn't sure how it all happened. How they had progressed from seatmates to roommates to friends to . . . well, he wasn't sure what . . . in a matter of days. Yes, they had spent a significant amount of time together during those days, but it was more than hours on a clock. There was a connection that he simply couldn't account for. They spoke to each other with the ease and knowledge of old friends. Or if John was more honest with himself there was an intimacy between them usually reserved for lovers.

John shook his head and closed the book. No use there. He'd only made it through half a chapter in the last hour. But why were they so drawn to each other? Of course, she was maddeningly beautiful, incredibly intelligent and appeared to be a competent businesswoman. Anna easily captivated him, but he couldn't understand why she would have any interest in him. Why she continued to dig into his past? Why she wanted to spend her limited free time with him? Why she snuggled up against him as if it was second nature?

He needed a cup of coffee. He couldn't believe he had actually told her about his stint in rehab. The only people who knew about that were his mother, sister, Robert and Cora and there he was blabbering to Anna about it. Jesus, what she must think of him and she didn't even know the worst of it. If she did, he doubted she'd be keen on continuing their relationship.

John watched raindrops race each other down the small kitchen window as he stood with his coffee mug. Awful instant coffee again. Maybe he should buy Anna a coffeemaker before he left; a parting gift of sorts. It really was a dreary day. He had planned to explore the Victoria and Albert Museum and perhaps wander around Hyde Park, but with the inclement weather he opted to stay indoors. His side always ached more when it rained.

Before he could take another sip, he heard a knock at the door. John wasn't sure what to do. Would Anna want a strange man answering her door? The phone had rung earlier and he had let it go. It was probably just the postman with a package. He could leave it at the door. It wasn't any of John's business.

Another knock. This time more of a pound.

"Yo, are you there? John, it's Lynnie from next door."

"Coming," John hollered as made his way to the door. He couldn't fathom what the goth girl would want with him. Perhaps she needed her skillet back.

Once again black dominated her wardrobe. Black sleeveless dress and black leggings this time. Her only nod to color besides her hair was the bright red flats upon her feet.

"Nice to see you again," John greeted her.

"You too. Look, Anna just called me. She's been trying to get a hold of you."

So Anna had been the one calling earlier.

"Do you have her number?" John nodded. She had already given it to him in case of emergency. "Give her a call. Something about changing plans for tonight."

"Thanks." While he kept a friendly smile planted on his face, disappointment coursed through his body. She wanted to "change plans" which was code for she was having regrets about last night.

"By the way, whatever you ended up cooking yesterday was a big hit with Anna. She kept going on about what a wonderful cook you were, how you even made homemade cookies for her. I haven't heard her this happy in . . . well, it's been a long time."

He could feel himself blush at Lynnie's praise. So Anna did enjoy his company last night or least his cooking. Maybe she wasn't regretting it after all.

As Lynnie turned to leave, John couldn't help himself. He wanted to know more. He needed to know more.

"Hey wait, I hope you don't mind me asking, but I was wondering . . . that is . . . I was. . . "

"Go ahead . . . spit it out," Lynnie encouraged good-naturedly.

"What can you tell me about Anna's ex?"

Lynnie's eyes sharpened. "Why do you ask? What has Anna told you?"

"That he was a pretty worthless husband; that he's trying to punish her financially with the terms of the divorce."

"Well, that's all true," Lynnie confirmed. "But he was a bastard a long time before the divorce proceedings ever started."

"How did she end up with him in the first place?"

The redhead stood silent for a moment conflicted.

"I really shouldn't be telling you anything," John could respect that. Lynnie was a true friend. Hadn't Anna said as much the night before? But before he could say anything, she crossed the room and plopped down in an armchair. Taking that as signal to continue the conversation, John closed the door.

"Can I get you anything? Coffee, tea . . . ?"

"No thanks," Lynnie shook her head as John took a seat across from her. "You see Anna met Mac when she was very young. She was in her first year at university. We had been paired as roommates that fall. Anna hadn't really been interested in boys . . . and really that's what they were at our age . . . boys. She had her head in her books all the time. She wanted so badly to succeed in her studies. As far as the opposite sex, she had no real experience. Then Mac came along . . ."

"And swept her off her feet?"

"No, not really. Anna was quite resistant at first. He wasn't her type at all. He was older and extremely outgoing, an in-your-face type of guy. The life of the party. Good looking for sure. He always had girls chasing him, but for some reason he wanted Anna."

John couldn't help but irrationally jump to her defense. "Who wouldn't want Anna?"

Lynnie smiled at his sharp remark. "I don't mean that the way it sounds. It's just Anna and Mac had nothing in common. It was odd. Mac was relentless in pursing her, fixated really. It's like he had to possess her."

"Did Anna return his sentiments?"

"Oh, I don't know. Not at first. I think he wore her down after a while. He can be quite charming when he wants to be and no one had ever given her that much attention in her life." Lynnie paused and cocked her head. "Did she tell you about her childhood?"

John nodded.

"Well, then you know that she was just starved for love and security, for a place to belong. She was looking for a home and she thought Mac could give that to her."

"How did it fall apart?"

"It's funny . . . I think they stayed together for so long because they simply didn't see each other very often. Mac was very determined to make it big in trading and worked insanely long hours. Their paths barely crossed. Things started to sour when he attempted to jump into real estate investment. He floundered while at the same time Anna's career was taking off."

"I bet he couldn't stand her being more successful," wagered John.

"Oh, he hated it, but that wasn't all. Over that last year or so they were together he became irrationally jealous and even more possessive. He was sure she was having an affair which is rich coming from someone who continuously walked out on Anna."

"What an ass," John couldn't help adding.

"One Saturday during this time, I went over to their place to cheer Anna up. We ordered take away and were watching a movie when Mac burst in, pissed as usual, screaming at Anna, accusing her of sleeping with some other guy. He called her the crudest names you could imagine, but the scary thing was the look in his eye. He was absolutely convinced she was cheating on him and with someone he knew. He kept going on, 'I know you're with him', 'I knew he'd find you again,' 'He's only with you to make me mad.' Crazy stuff like that. It was all really bizarre, but I'm glad I was there. I swear to god, I don't know what would have happened if I hadn't been there."

John took a deep breath before asking the question to which he dreaded the answer. "The bastard clearly abused Anna verbally, but did he ever get physical with her? Did he ever hit her?"

Lynnie issued a long sigh and hung her head. "I don't know . . . for sure. Anna never said. But here's what I can tell you. . ."

She hesitated. John's stomach turned over. He had a bad feeling about what she was about to say. He had worked several years now in Afghanistan. He was well familiar with spousal abuse. But god, he hated to think Anna had been brutalized.

Lynnie looked up and met John's eyes. Hers were damp. "On the night she left Mac . . . it was a Friday I remember . . . she showed up at my door around 2:30 in the morning. She had one large suitcase and her work satchel. That's it, nothing else. She wasn't crying. In fact she was calm; way too calm for what she had just done. All she said was that she had left Mac. Then she went straight for the bathroom and locked the door. She turned the shower on, but I could hear her sobbing from the hall."

John ached for Anna. The image of her doubled over crying pierced him. And he knew unfortunately that Anna's reality was likely ten times worse than the worst he could imagine.

"When she didn't come out for almost two hours, I started to get really worried, but finally she came out wearing an old pair of flannel pajamas and looking like death warmed over. That's when I saw her hands, well actually, her wrists. They were black and blue, bruised all around. I tried to get her to talk to me, but she was adamant she just wanted to be left alone. I wanted to call the police, but Anna freaked out when I mentioned it. She kept saying she didn't want anyone to know."

Shame and humiliation. A classic reaction to abuse. John was beyond aching for Anna. Now he was angry. Very angry. He wanted to beat the crap out of Mac.

"Did she ever tell you what happened that night?"

"I tried to get it out of her, really I did. I told her she at least needed to see a counselor if not the police, but she just wanted to be by herself. She insisted. That whole weekend she just stayed in my spare room only coming out to use the loo. I brought her food, but she hardly touched it. She stared out the window most of the time. But here's the strange thing. . ."

Lynnie paused, shaking her head in wonder, "I got up Monday morning and there sat Anna dressed to the nines in her suit eating a piece of toast ready for work as if nothing had happened. Oh, I knew she was still a mess inside, but she made a decision to pull herself together and not let Mac ruin her life . . . not let him win. Then that day on her lunch break she met with her solicitor and filed for divorce. That's one thing I admire about Anna; she's not one to sit and wallow in her problems. She's the most determined person I know."

In back recesses of John's mind rang Anna's voice. _This won't change a thing. We are going to be together whether she wants it or not._ He heard the resolve. The determination. No, Anna never wallowed in her problems . . . their problems.

John shook his head. Her voice fled. What the hell was going on? Things were there one minute, gone the next. He couldn't remember, yet he knew Anna was central to everything. He forced his attention back to Lynnie.

"Has Anna seen Mac since that night?"

"Not much, thank god. I think it took him a few days to figure out she had even left him, but then he got served with the divorce papers and all hell broke loose."

"What do you mean?"

"Mac tracked Anna down at work. I don't think he knew she was staying here, but he did know where her office was. Well, he burst in there screaming about how dare she divorce him and of course called her all kinds of awful names."

"Did someone call the police?"

"The building security escorted him out before the actual police arrived, but it did scare Anna enough that she went down to the local station and got a restraining order put on Mac."

"That's good to hear, but has it worked?" John asked incredulously. He doubted a piece of paper would stop a man like Mac if he was bent on harming Anna.

"For the most part, yes. Anna thinks that his lawyer must have told him that if he violates the restraining order he'll likely land in jail or more importantly end up getting nothing in the divorce. For Mac, money and maintaining his lifestyle are top priorities. But I'm still not convinced that . . ."

"What?" John prompted at Lynnie's hesitation.

"Well, it's just . . . I'm not sure he's still not lurking around. There are days that I've sensed someone watching . . . following . . . when I'm out with Anna. Oh, I don't know, maybe I'm just being silly. I mean, I've never actually seen him that's why I've never mentioned it to her, but I do feel a presence from time to time."

"No, I don't think you're being silly at all." John had learned from his days as a solider in Afghanistan that sometimes hunches and feelings provided the best leads in a search.

Lynnie smiled ruefully. "Thanks for your vote of confidence . . . but back to your previous question, did he hit her? Other than her hands, I never saw any marks on Anna. She never told me of any abuse either, but I think there's a lot she hasn't told me . . . that she hasn't told anyone. No matter how hard I tried, she wouldn't go to a counselor. She can be quite stubborn when she wants to be, but she got scars. Maybe not the kind you can see, but they're there.

She's not the only one. Like Anna, John's most troubling and lingering scars were not the ones lining his side, but the ones locked inside.

"Well, I should be going," Lynnie declared getting up off the couch. John followed her and opened the door for her.

She paused on her way out. "If you don't mind, I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention what I told you to Anna. I think she'd be mighty embarrassed and upset."

"No worries, I won't say a word."

The red-head looked up at John with a small smile. "But I am glad I told you."

"Me too. By the way, if you'd like to come over for dinner one night this week, I could cook for the two of you. Anna would love for you to join us."

Her smile grew and she chuckled as she walked away. "I'm not so sure about that. I'd think she'd fancy an evening alone with you much more than an evening with her mate."

So would John.

* * *

Anna juggled a large pile of files, a flake candy bar, a bag of crisps and a bottle of soda water against her chest as she walked back to her cubicle. She had just extracted files from the desk of her former co-worker Alan who until this morning had also worked in the historic acquisitions department. He had resigned with no warning. Anna knew he wasn't happy with the job, but she never thought he would up and quit like that. Now she was stuck picking up the slack. So much for the days she was hoping to take off to spend with John.

John. She couldn't help smiling. Anna wasn't sure what it was about him, but god, just thinking of him made her face light up. She rolled her eyes. She was acting like some love-struck teenager. This wasn't like her. It was simply infatuation. But the way he held her last night . . . it felt so right, so familiar. Her smile grew even more.

Her mobile vibrated in her skirt pocket. She shifted the files to one arm with her snacks precariously balanced on top, so she could pull out the phone. Maybe stopping at the vending machine hadn't been the smartest idea, but she had missed lunch due to an emergency staff meeting in the wake of Alan's departure. Her resistance to junk food is non-existent when her stomach is growling.

As she answered, the soda water rolled off the stack of files and hit the tile floor with a loud thud followed by her bag of crisps.

"Blast it!" Anna cried as she tucked the mobile between her ear and shoulder and reached down to retrieve the bottle. Thankfully, it hadn't open.

"I can call back if this is a bad time," John's hesitant voice came over the line.

"No, no. I just dropped some snacks while answering."

John chuckled. "I'm sorry to interrupt your snack food munching."

Anna grinned at his teasing as she made her way back to her desk. "No, it's okay. I can talk and munch at the same time. I'm great at multi-tasking."

"I'm sure you are." He was grinning. Anna was sure of it. "I'm calling because Lynnie stopped by and told me you were trying to reach me."

"Yes! I tried calling you earlier but you must have been out and I haven't had a chance since. It's been a mess at work today. Someone in my department quit and I'm taking over all his inquiries on top of mine. I'm going to be stuck with a lot of long hours in the weeks to come."

"Are you trying to tell me you won't be making it home for dinner?" John guessed. His voice was still pleasant enough, but it had lost its enthusiasm.

"No, not at all!" Anna reassured quickly dumping the files on her desk and sitting down. "Quite the opposite. My friend Rebecca in accounting has two spare tickets to the London Symphony Orchestra. Seems her son is running a fever and doesn't want to leave him with sitter, so she asked if I'd be interested in the tickets. I jumped at the offer."

There was a brief pause on the line. Christ, she wished she could see John. She giggled nervously. "I hope you like classical music . . . if you don't want to go . . ."

"Nonsense," interrupted John. "A night on the town with you sounds delightful."

Her heart pounded in her chest at his words. "Great! Even though I currently have a massive pile of files on my desk, I'm going to see if I can sneak out early so I can make it home to change."

As she said the words, an unfortunate thought crossed her mind. "Oh John, I didn't even think. Do you have any dress clothes? I'm not sure if there's a dress code, but. . ." Jeez, he'd been doing relief work in Afghanistan. She doubted there was a great call for a suit and tie there.

"Don't worry," John reassured her in a warm voice. He was smiling again. "I'll be suitably attired."

"Well, all right then. I guess I'll see you soon, say around 5pm?"

"I'll be ready. Goodbye, Anna."

"Bye, John."

As she hung up, Anna reclined in her office chair. Self-satisfied, she unwrapped her Flake bar and took a big bite. She looked at the pile of files in front of her. Usually, she would have dreaded the extra work and stress, but today she just reached for the top file and hummed happily to herself as she took another bite. For once, things were going her way.

* * *

"I had a really nice time tonight," Anna told John as they walked up the slight hill from the tube station towards her building.

The rain had stopped though the pavement was still wet. Anna's heels clacked softly. The fresh smell of spring enveloped them. John breathed deeply. Everything smelled new. He felt new, cleansed somehow. A foreign feeling for someone had invested years hating himself.

"Me too. I haven't been to a symphony concert since I was a kid." At Anna's quizzical glance up, "Yes, my mom not only schooled us in Broadway, but also classical."

"Were you familiar with tonight's pieces?"

"Not really. I know some Tchaikovsky . . . 1812 Overture, The Nutcracker and such, but I had never heard Sleeping Beauty or any of the other pieces tonight."

"I loved Sleeping Beauty. Even though there weren't dancers to accompany the music, you could still follow the story."

"A big fan of fairy tales?"

"Aren't most girls?" Anna asked with an impish grin before sobering. "But I know happy endings don't come that easy. You have to make your own happiness and can't wait for Prince Charming to save the day."

"Well said." John wasn't sure happy ending even existed. Maybe for others, but he was skeptical of his own.

A comfortable silence fell over them as they continued on. Anna had one arm tucked in his. John couldn't help think how natural it felt walking in step. There wasn't a need to talk or impress the other. Mutual respect and acceptance abounded. Yes, they both had pieces of themselves they weren't ready to share, but that was okay. Just being in each other's company was enough for now.

They started past a park situated across the street from her building. As they strolled leisurely, the fingers of Anna's free hand casually traced the wrought iron fence that enclosed the park. John couldn't help looking down to snatch another glimpse of her.

Simply stunning. She was dressed in a flowing red cocktail dress. The bodice was fitted but the skirt flounced into pleats that swirled around her knees leaving the rest of her shapely legs visible. Her hair was loosely pulled back with some stray strands framing her face. As usual, Anna's makeup was minimal which was fine with John. He had always been attracted to natural beauty rather than manufactured. As with her makeup, her jewelry was simple but elegant. She adorned her ears with teardrop pearls and a twisted gold rope chain draped from her neck to swell of her breasts. Upon her feet were sensible black pumps.

When she had walked out of her bedroom earlier that night, John had been at a complete loss. He fumbled for words in his muddled mind. Then if he wasn't off-balanced enough, she gave him a frank appraisal and with a rather sultry smile commented he cleaned up nicely.

That was it. John could feel his body tighten. Jesus, not only was he attracted to this woman but apparently, unless he was really rusty at reading signs, she was also attracted to him. He still couldn't fathom why. Maybe it was the suit. After hanging up with Anna earlier, he raced to a local men's clothing store and bought a suit right off the rack. Then after much cajoling and eventually bribing, John convinced the store's seamstress to make alterations on the spot. He made it back to Anna's flat only minutes before she arrived home herself, but it was worth it. He had told her he would be suitably attired and he was going to be. Of course, he wouldn't tell her it cost an arm and leg. The look she gave him made the hundreds of dollars he shelled out seem like a bargain.

The funny thing was even as his libido raced; his heart tumbled even harder in his chest. No, it wasn't just a sexual pull between them. There was this innate connection that he couldn't explain. It was crazy. They had only known each other for a few days, but John felt more comfortable sharing with her than he did his closest friends and family. Somehow Anna just knew him, understood him, matched him. Plus, he couldn't remember having a more enjoyable time with anyone else. Fun was not a word often found in John Bates's vocabulary, but being with Anna was just that . . . fun.

As they neared the wide entrance of the park and the zebra crossing that lead directly to Anna's building, John head a voice from behind.

"Nice evening, eh?"

John turned around; a friendly reply on the tip of his tongue. A man sat on a bench near the park's entrance. Then inexplicably John felt Anna's body tense; her hand gripped his forearm. He glanced from the man to Anna. Anger swarmed her face. Her eyes had darkened to a stormy blue hue; they were piercing. John had never seen her like this.

"What are you doing here?" She spat out at the man on the bench.

"Just enjoying a beautiful night . . . as it appears you are too." The man's voice was still pleasant, but an air of condescension echoed his words. John was confused. What was going on?

"Right across the street from my flat?" You don't really expect me to believe that . . . do you, Mac?"

Now it was John's turn to tense. Adrenalin raced up and down his body. A wave of disgust filled him. This was the bastard who had hurt Anna.

"Anna, is this . . ?"

With a deep sigh, Anna reluctantly made introductions. "John, this is my ex-husband. . ."

"Not quite ex," piped up Mac.

Anna lowered her voice to a near growl. "All right . . . my soon to be ex-husband, Vernon McCarthy. Mac, this is a friend of mine visiting from America, John Bates."

Both men sized each other up. To John, Mac was an average looking man with an average build. Nothing remarkable. His hair was a dark auburn. Nothing memorable . . . until he met Mac's eyes.

Those eyes. John knew those eyes. He had seen them both in the light of day and in his nightmares. They were her eyes. They had laughed at him. They had taunted him. They had abused him. Hate oozed from them now, just at it had then.

"Right cozy for just a friend and since when do you have friends in America?" Mac questioned awaking John from his otherworldly state.

"It's none of your business who my friends are or where they come from."

"It's most definitely is my business. I'm still your husband," Mac shot back. He took another look at John. "You must be looking for a sugar daddy. Jesus Anna, he's old enough to be your father."

Though the voice wasn't hers the derision was the same. John had heard it all before.

Anna's patience had run out and she started to walk away. "Come on, John. We're leaving."

"Wait, wait. Please Anna, wait!" Mac pleaded from the bench. His voice was as pitiful as it was grating.

John wanted to keep walking. Well, if he was honest he wanted to knock the son of bitch on his ass and then keep walking, but Anna stopped and slowly turned around exasperated.

"What is it Mac? You've got ten seconds."

"I wanted to discuss the divorce a bit. Can I come up for just a few minutes?" His voice was pathetic, begging.

"Any matters concerning the divorce need to be taken care of through our solicitors. We're not discussing anything tonight. Kindly go home now. You know you're breaking the restraining order."

Mac demeanor switched rapidly from pleading to rage. "Screw the restraining order. We were married for almost ten years and you can't give me a few minutes? Oh, I see . . . that's right you're too busy with grandpa. Anna, this divorce is killing me. I don't have any money. I can't get a job. You've got to help me, damn it!"

When Anna said nothing, he continued, "Look at you with your fancy clothes spending the night out. A good job and plenty of money. You've got it all and you've left me with nothing."

John's vision wavered. A similar scene played in his memory. Mac was there. No, not him. It was her sitting in front of them. He and Anna stood. Just like now. Arguing about a divorce. Only now the words came out of Anna's mouth not his.

"You're angry because I'm happy."

"But you won't be happy long," Mac declared with a sneer. "Somehow I don't think the judge will look too kindly upon you shagging other men while we're still man and wife. Oh, you're really good at playing the role of the poor, wronged wife. You've got everyone thinking you're so wholesome and innocent, but I've always known the truth. You've been cheating on me . . . with him. I knew it. I knew one day you'd both ruin me. You're nothing but a filthy whore who can't keep her legs closed."

John snapped. His SEAL training in overdrive. Within a fraction of a second, he had Mac's pinned up against the back of the bench with a knee to his chest. His hands squeezed Mac's wrists cutting off circulation. John was trained in hand-to-hand combat. He knew how to kill a man. It wouldn't take much to cut off Mac's air supply. His side throbbed at the sudden movement, but John was oblivious to the pain. Thoughts and images ricocheted through his brain. Only one sentiment made its way to the surface.

_You bitch._

"You bastard," he choked out.

Mac struggled for breath as John's knee knifed deeper into his chest and his hold tightened on his wrists.

"John, stop! He's not worth it!" He vaguely heard Anna's panicked voice from behind.

"Go ahead be my guest . . ." Mac grunted trying to catch his breath. "Bust me up good. I'm sure the judge will love to hear how Anna's new boyfriend assaulted me."

John didn't say anything or lessen his grip. His mind was a jumble.

"John, please!" Anna's voice drifted to his ears again.

"I can already feel bruises forming on my wrists."

"Oh, like the ones you gave Anna," John retorted without thinking. "I'd like to beat you to a pulp, but you're not worth it."

As he threw Mac's limp body back against bench, he heard a gasp from Anna.

His head swiveled to catch a look of shock and humiliation mar her beautiful features. Only then did John realize what he had said; the mistake he had made.

Without a word spoken, Anna took off at a clip across the street.

"Anna, wait!" John started to follow her, but stopped sharply and turned back to Mac. "I'm warning you. Leave Anna the hell alone or next time you won't be able to walk away."

Mac said nothing. He just glared at John as pulled himself off the bench and hobbled down the street.

When John looked back towards Anna's building, she was nowhere in sight. John closed his eyes and released a heavy sigh. Damn it, how could be such an idiot? Speaking aloud her shame like that, especially in front of that bastard. He had no right to do so. He had just been so furious, but that was no excuse.

As John made his way back to her flat, he realized the sins of his past were coming back to haunt him. He didn't deserve to have someone as ideal as Anna in his life not after what happened on his last tour. He never would.

The door to the flat was slightly ajar. John entered to an eerie silence. Was Anna even there? Maybe she headed over to Lynnie's, but surely she wouldn't leave the door open like that if she wasn't there.

He quietly walked through the living room into the dining room. No sign of Anna there or in the kitchen either. He headed toward the bedrooms. There in her room he found her. She stared out the window into darkness; moonlight illuminating her slender figure.

John paused in the doorway. He didn't want to bother her but he had to make amends the best he could. He had to let her know how sorry he was.

"Anna," he almost whispered. He wasn't sure she even heard him. He began again a little louder, no less uncertain. "Anna, I'm so sorry for what I said down there. I had no right to say it especially in front of him."

She showed no emotion nor did she turn from the window, but she simply asked, "So Lynnie told you?"

"Don't be mad at her. I pushed her to tell me."

Now she turned around confused and desperate. "But why? Why would you want to know those things about me?"

He was floundering now. John was never been good at showing or explaining his emotions, but he would try for Anna. She deserved that much.

"I wanted to know why you were hurting so much. I had a feeling it was more than just a typical divorce."

Anna shook her head and repeated herself, "I still don't understand, but why would you want to know all that? Why even ask?

"Because . . . because I care for you," John sputtered out.

She said no more and turned back to the window. She was dismissing him. It was over. Whatever they had was over before it ever really began.

"I never meant to hurt you and I am sorry," John reiterated.

Nothing. She didn't look back. She was done with him.

"Well, I'll go pack my bags and call a cab," John sighed softly. This was harder than he ever imagined. "And Anna, thank you for everything."

He was turning to leave when he heard click of heels upon the hardwood floor. Before he had time to ready himself, her arms came around his middle. Without thinking, he pulled her into a tight embrace.

"Don't go, John," she murmured against his suit jacket. "Don't go."

* * *

_**A/N: No Astute Reader Challenge this month, but I would really appreciate feedback about how I'm doing on appropriate slang and vocabulary. I try to write John's sections with American slang and Anna's with British, but unfortunately all my British slang comes mostly from watching PBS and having visited the UK twice. Am I on target with her sections or I am totally off? **_


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: I must apologize for the delay on this chapter. The end of school is always a madhouse and I'll be honest this chapter was challenging, but I hope you enjoy all the angst, tea and coffee. If it's any consolation, it's a crazy long chapter!**_

* * *

**Chapter 5: **

"I'm not going anywhere . . ." John murmured into her Anna hair. "As long as that's what you want."

Anna didn't lessen her grip, but a wave of relief filtered through her. Yes, it was what she wanted. She wanted John to stay . . . stay right as he was holding her firm against him. The last fifteen minutes were fuzzy, yet startling clear at the same time. Seeing Mac . . . his ugly words, accusations . . . John defending her . . . realizing he knew . . . but nothing panicked her more than the thought of John leaving. He couldn't. Not now, not yet.

John's breath was warm and heavy against her scalp. She closed her eyes and inhaled his scent. He wore the same aftershave as the night before. The subtle fragrance mixed with that of his suit. With her cheek against it, Anna could now smell its newness. John must have gone out and bought it this afternoon. She was sure of it. A lump formed in her throat. He had bought a suit just to go out with her. No, John couldn't leave.

She wasn't sure how long they stood in the dark doorway; her sense of time distorted. Finally, she pulled away. She was stronger than this. She didn't need to be held or propped up. Christ, he must think she's an absolute basket case.

"I'm sorry," she apologized stepping out of his embrace. "I don't know what came over me. You must think . . ."

"I don't think anything," John interrupted. "But I wish I could help somehow. I know seeing him shook you up. I can feel it."

"I'll be fine." Stiff upper lip. Isn't that what her people were known for? At his doubtful face, she tried again with a forced smile, "Really, I will be."

"Anna, I can't begin to put myself in your place, but if I can do anything, just name it."

She took another step back. She needed to retreat now or she might find her way right back into his arms. _You can stand on your own_, _Anna. You don't need help. You don't need him._

"I think I'll just take a shower and go to bed."

"All right . . ." John looked like he wanted to say more, but instead whispered, "Goodnight Anna."

"Goodnight John."

And he left. Even though she had encouraged him to leave, Anna couldn't help feeling deflated. She had never been one to seek comfort in others. And really, even if she had wanted to, there had never been anyone to turn to. Her parents were a fleeting memory and her relatives saw to her more out of duty than love. Mac certainly never brought her solace. And she hated to burden Lynnie or any of her other friends with her screwed up life. But it would have been nice . . . more than nice . . . to have John continue to hold her until the trauma of the evening subsided.

But she couldn't; she wouldn't put him in such a position. It didn't matter that he offered to help. This was her life and her problems. No, a hot shower was all the comfort she would allow herself tonight.

Anna set the water to a notch below scalding. She needed the heat, the sting, to rid herself of Mac and all he stirred up in her consciousness. She scrubbed vigorously; a thick lather coating her red skin. If only she could wash him away so easily. She had thought things were going better. They _had_ been going better. She had moved up in her company. She had complete control of her finances, her home, her life trajectory. She had made friends at work and through Lynnie devoid of any connection to Mac . . . She had met John.

But damn it, one time was all it took. One confrontation with Mac and she was a mess. And it killed her that John knew about Mac and how he had hurt her. It's not that Anna didn't acknowledge what had happened. Hell, she had been going to a support group for six months now. She knew what happened wasn't her fault. She knew she shouldn't be ashamed. She knew Mac was responsible. She knew all of that, but it still didn't mean she wanted John to know. She couldn't stand for him to look at her with pity.

As Anna headed back to her room, she paused in the hall and looked toward the guest room. Was John still awake? The door was partially open but no lights shone. She couldn't blame him for going to bed. It had been a long evening. A mostly good evening. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time she had been so carefree, untroubled. So naturally it was time for Mac to reappear. Would she ever be rid of him? He was curse she had no remedy for.

A rustle came from the kitchen. A teapot's soft whistle broke the silence within the flat. John must not have gone to bed after all.

Anna changed into a pair of flannel pajama pants and a t-shirt left over from university. Her body was still pink and cooked from the shower. As she dried her hair with a towel, she opened bedroom's lone window. A cool spring breeze enveloped her so fast she shivered despite her body's heat.

Her head swiveled at a soft rap on the door.

"Anna, are you there? I've brought you something."

Laying the towel upon a desk chair, she went and opened the door. With her wet hair and old pajamas, she was a rumpled facsimile of the woman who greeted John earlier this evening.

There he stood holding a tray with a cup of tea and a plate of yesterday's cookies, but that wasn't all. In one corner of the tray stood a pint glass filled halfway with water and within stood several daffodils at full bloom. Her heart flopped hard at the sight of this large man with a tea tray. She would have thought he'd be awkward carrying something so dainty, but he looked completely at ease, as if he had done it before . . . done it before for her? For an instant, she saw him standing, stiff collar and black suit. A vase of lilacs instead of daffodils. She blinked hard once . . . twice . . . and it was gone. Just John remained standing in a dress shirt and slacks. His jacket and tie discarded.

"It's so pretty."

"An eye for detail, that's what I'm known for," John noted as his lips quirked up.

Anna smiled back. "Maybe so, but I'm not so sure Mrs. Merriman will appreciate her flower bed being dug up."

"Um . . . may I come in?" John motioned with his head.

"Sure, sure," Anna raked a hand through her wet hair and moved out of the doorway.

"I just . . . thought you'd like some tea."

"Aw, thanks. I could sure use a cup."

She moved towards John to take the tray, but he took a step back.

"No, Anna. Let me take care of you tonight. Go get in bed."

Her face flushed and embarrassment flooded her body. His words were innocent, but they nonetheless left her at a loss.

"Really, John. I'm fine."

"I know you're fine, but sometimes we all need to be looked after."

Even him, she couldn't help wondering.

"Come on now, under the blankets. Let me tuck you in."

A giggle escaped, then another. The easiness of earlier returned. There was just something about this man. She knew he would never hurt her.

Anna clamored into her bed. John set the tray on the desk and came over. Despite trusting John implicitly, Anna couldn't help her pulse rising as he neared. She sat up with her back flattened against two pillows. John pulled her comforter up and gently tucked it around her waist. Then he ran his hands down her legs smoothing out the covers. She briefly thought how she had always stiffened at Mac's touch even before things soured, but John's hands were warm and his fingers deft. Not only did her body not reject the contact, it began to stir. She never knew she had so many nerve endings in her calves. With a squeeze of her toes, he turned to retrieve the tray.

"Here you go, milady," John set the tray upon her lap. A strong, sweet smell filled her nostrils. This was not her usual tea blend.

She brought the cup up to her lips and took a small sip. It tasted honeyed and heavy and like home. Even though the temperature was not scalding, her throat slightly burned as she swallowed.

"Hmm . . . it seems you added some ingredients."

"A spoonful of honey, a pinch of cinnamon and a . . . "

Unconsciously Anna joined in, "Splash of spirits guaranteed to cure all ills."

Surprised, John laughed, "Is that a common saying over here?"

"Not that I know of." But come to think of it, Anna didn't know where the words had come from. They just flowed off her tongue without thought.

"It's just odd . . ." John sat down on the opposite side of the bed. "Remember the old lady who gave me the pocket watch?"

Anna nodded. "Your good luck charm."

"That's the one. She was British by birth. Well, she also used to watch my sister and me whenever we were home sick from school so our parents wouldn't have to take off work."

She could see it vividly. A young John, sick in bed, reading comic books. A Chicago Cubs poster on his wall, a half-eaten package of Oreo cookies on his bed. His dark head bowed as he read intently and chomped on a cookie.

"Well, this was the drink she gave us to make us feel better and she always said those same words when she served it."

"Did your parents know she was liquoring you up?" Anna asked with a grin.

"I don't know," John chuckled. "But I don't think they minded since she was doing them a favor, and besides, her tea really did work wonders."

"A cure for all ills?"

"Precisely," he confirmed. "So drink up."

Anna couldn't help a sad smile from ghosting her lips. "I wish it was that simple. Just a sip or two and our troubles banished."

John sobered, "But it's not that simple, is it?"

She shook her head. "No, John, it's not."

A long moment passed. "Well, I'll let you get some rest." He started to stand.

"Thank you for the tea and cookies . . ." her voice drifted off as she toyed with one of the lilacs, ". . . and everything."

"My pleasure, Anna." He turned his back to leave.

"No, John, I mean it. Thank you . . ." she paused and gulped hard. "Thank you being there with me. I don't know what would have happened had I been alone."

John hesitated, then turned around. "I'm sorry I went overboard. I hope it won't hurt the divorce proceedings."

"I don't think so. If he wants to tell the judge about you roughing him up, I can bring up his violation of the restraining order. Mac isn't stupid. He won't want to endanger his side of the divorce."

John started to speak, but shut his eyes and stopped himself.

"John, what is it?"

"It's just. . ." he struggled for the words. "I hate the god damn bastard. I hate that he's still in your life. I hate that he makes it a living hell. I hate what he did to you."

Anna laughed a laugh devoid of any humor. "That's a lot of hates, John. Trust me, no one hates Vernon McCarthy more than me, but you don't know what he did to me, not really. He didn't just assault my body; he obliterated my sense of self."

"Oh Anna, I am so sorry. . ."

There it was. The pity. She could see plainly it in his eyes. She didn't want that. She never wanted that . . . especially not from him.

"Stop it!" she cried bringing her palm down sharply on the tray. Tea sloshed over the side of the cup. "I don't want your sympathy and I don't want you to be bloody sorry."

"Then can I be angry?" He shot back. "Because right now all I want to do is track him down and bash his skull in."

"You can be as upset as you want, but it won't change things. It won't get him out of my life any sooner. And that's all I want . . . him gone for good. No more showing up at my doorstep or at work, no more legal delays. I want Mac completely extracted from my life. Maybe then . . ."

The bed listed as John sat back down. He inched towards Anna. Before she knew what he was doing, she felt his hand upon her face. His fingers tunneled into her hair while his palm cupped her cheek. Her eyes trembled shut. His forehead came to rest lightly upon hers.

"Maybe then . . . what? He whispered.

His voice was soft and melodic. It matched the soothing touch of his hands upon her face. Even though she had become accustomed to his flat American accent, Anna swore she detected a slight lilt in his voice. She had heard it before. _I think I would love you however, whatever, whenever._

"What do you want, lass?"

Now was now. With John. What _did _she want? Her mind tried to focus behind her closed lids. His thumb caressed her check in a gentle rhythm. His lips lightly brushed her temple. He was there. He wasn't leaving or abandoning her. For the first time in ages, she felt safe, protected. She didn't have to hide her demons, not from him. He would understand. He wouldn't assign blame or culpability.

_He would love her however, whatever, whenever. _

"I want . . ." Anna's mouth quivered against the stubble of his five o'clock shadow. "I want to tell you what happened."

His fingers paused ever so briefly in her hair and on her face. He leaned back to meet her eyes. "Are you sure? I'm here and willing to listen to whatever you have to say . . . but are you sure?"

Anna nodded once before turning and breaking contact with John. If she was going to do this, she needed to compose herself. She took a big sip of tea for courage. It had cooled considerably but the whiskey was as potent as ever.

"I only have one request. Please don't judge me. I know what happened wasn't my fault, but I was stupid enough to get mixed up with Mac in the first place. I should have known better."

"Trust me, Anna. I have no right to judge you or any man."

Anna glanced back up at John but he avoided eye contact. Instead he turned and bent over the side of the bed untying his shoes. Someday she'd find out what made him say such things. Was he just ashamed of his past addiction? Anna didn't think that was all. There was something much deeper that gnawed at his soul and devalued his self-worth.

John plumped two pillows beside her and sat up with back against them and the bed's headboard. He stretched his long legs out in front of him on top of the comforter. They extended a good foot further down the bed then Anna's. When he crossed his feet she caught a glimpse of a big toe peeking out. She couldn't help grinning. He may have bought a new suit, but his sock had a hole in it. She found the irony endearing.

"Whenever you're ready . . . I'm all ears."

Anna took another big gulp tea and set the empty cup down with slight clink. She picked up a cookie and began to nibble at it; first the crunchy edges before making her way to the moist center.

"All done with the tea?"

At her nod, John took the tray and set it on the floor, not before grabbing a cookie for himself. As they chewed, a silent breeze billowed the curtains.

"These are still good even when they're not hot."

"Best cookies around and don't even think about trying to get the recipe out of me. I have been trained in advanced interrogation techniques. I will not break."

Anna laughed up at John. His face was open, kind and more than a little nervous. She knew he was trying hard to put her at ease. God bless him, but what she had to say wasn't going to be easy at all.

"You're the first friend I've ever told about what happened with Mac. I mean, Lynnie saw evidence of it, but I never talked with her about what exactly went on the evening I left him."

"I'm really the first person you're telling?"

"No, I said friend," Anna corrected him. At John's bewildered face, she continued. "You see, I've been going to a support group for about six months now."

"But Lynnie said she tried to get you to go and you refused."

"I never told her I joined one. You've got to understand, I so wanted to separate the part of my life that was going well . . . my career, my work colleagues . . . from Mac and what happened. But at the same time, I realized that I needed help if I was going to simply be able function in everyday life."

"And are you? Able to function that is?"

Anna shrugged. "Sort of. I've been struggling to keep up the façade of the independent career woman who just happens to be going through a divorce. But as the months drag on, I feel more and more like I'm living a lie. My co-workers and friends know about the divorce . . . I changed my name and many of them had witnessed when Mac charged into my office all crazy after he was served with the divorce papers . . ."

"Lynnie mentioned it," John interrupted.

Anna rolled her eyes and sighed. "Another fantastic incident for the Mac highlight reel. Anyway, my work friends all think it's just a regular divorce. Nobody knows how sadistic and cruel Mac was and still is. In fact, since I don't talk about it, most probably assume the divorce already went through."

"Do you want them to know the truth?"

"Not really, but it's hard to keep part of yourself . . . a big part . . . hidden. I feel like I have a millstone around my neck. So when I found the support group, I was thrilled and relieved."

"It's always a burden to keep things hidden," Anna wasn't sure if he was speaking from experience or just waxing philosophically. "Has the group helped?"

She plumped her pillows and turned on her side to face him. "Most definitely. I think I would have had some sort of breakdown without the group, but the funny thing is as much as the group has helped me, the women there don't really know me either."

John turned on his side too, a couple feet was all that separated them. "They know what happened with Mac. They know all about him and my disaster of a marriage. I didn't hold back anything. But that's all they know about me. They don't know what I do exactly for a living. They don't know my hobbies. They don't know that I love to travel. They don't know I support the Arsenal. They don't know I like to sleep late on Saturdays or go to boot sales on Sundays."

"I bet they don't know about your junk food addiction either?" John wagered with a half-smile.

Her lips quirked up. "Exactly. You see where I'm going with this." Her smile began to fade. "The group may have helped me recover from Mac's actions, but ultimately they don't know me any better than my friends. I guess what I'm looking for is someone who really knows me. Someone who knows every part of me."

John's hand snaked across the comforter and found one of hers. "Anna, if you want me to be that someone, I'm right here. You can tell me as much or little as you like. And know, I will never speak a word of it to anyone."

The lump in her throat expanded and all she could do was squeeze his hand in response. Never had she been so thankful for another's company. As irrational it was . . . god, she had only known him for three days . . . Anna knew with John at her side everything would ultimately be all right.

She took in a deep breath and exhaled. Once . . . twice. It was now or never. It would only get harder the longer she delayed.

"Where to start? I don't even know." Another breath, slowly now. In . . . out.

"Why don't you tell me how you got involved with Mac?" John prompted.

"Okay, good idea." She closed her eyes. She was glad now for the whiskey; it aided in her composure. Both her mind and body were beginning to mellow under the liquor's influence.

"Take your time, Anna. There's no rush. I'm not going anywhere." His thumb lightly brushed over her hand in slow, even strokes.

"I was just a girl when I met Mac. Nineteen years old in my first year at university. I was so young and naïve and . . . and so bloody stupid. I ended up marrying the first guy who showed any interest."

"Lynnie said he pursued you relentlessly."

"Perhaps so, but still I could have walked away and I didn't."

"Why not?" His thumb continued its caress.

"I suppose I was looking for someone to fill the empty spaces in my life."

"Left from your parents?"

She shut her eyes trying to grasp the right words. "I don't know . . . maybe. That's what I always thought, but looking back it wasn't my parents I was trying to replace." She paused blinking her eyes open meeting John's green depths across the pillows. "I always felt that someone . . . somebody . . . was missing from my life and that someday he would appear."

"You're not alone; most women look for 'Mr. Right'."

Anna shook her head. "No, it's more than that, more than just finding someone to share my life with. I had this ache . . . I should say still have an ache . . . for this absent person who should be at my side. The feeling of loss is staggering, overwhelming really."

She could tell John was having trouble processing her ramblings. His face was crinkled in confusion. She knew he was trying to understand, but God, she wasn't making sense.

"Forget about it; I can't explain it. I just know that I'm not whole . . . maybe I'll never be. But I'd like to think there is somebody out there to fill the void."

"And you thought Mac might be this person?"

"Yes and no. Even though I wasn't initially attracted to Mac, I did feel a certain connection to him. That somehow we were meant to cross paths. I guess deep down I was hopeful that he was that 'someone', that missing piece, but after being together for almost ten years, he's filled no holes and only ripped new ones in both my head and heart."

"Oh Anna, why'd you stay with him for so long?" John's hand left hers to rub lightly up and down her arm. She wasn't sure if the goose bumps were from his touch or the light breeze filtering in the room.

"I don't like to give up. I thought that I could make it work. I knew early on that our marriage wasn't ideal, but it wasn't horrible either . . . at least not yet."

"I have a hard time believing that any man who would physically harm his wife was ever a very good husband."

"I didn't say Mac was a good husband, just that our marriage wasn't insufferable . . . mainly because we never saw each other. The first few years were relatively calm and I suppose from an outsider perspective we were happy. I was finishing up my studies. Mac was wildly successful. The market was booming. He was making money hand over fist."

Anna flopped back, relinquishing John's touch, to lie flat on her back. She rubbed her eyes with frustration.

"I know, I know. Money doesn't equate to happiness, but a comfortable lifestyle can dupe you into believing that everything is all right."

"And it wasn't." It wasn't a question. John already knew the truth.

"Not by a long shot. Oh, we got along well enough. I played my role and that made Mac happy."

"What do you mean role?"

"He liked to have me on his arm at all these important parties and mixers he went to with bigwig traders and investors. I was young and pretty and helped elevate his status." A cold laugh escaped.

"What is it, Anna? What's so funny?"

Even though the bedside lamp was dim, she brought an arm across her face to block the light.

"Nothing really, just the irony. Mac loved to show me off at all these parties, but when we were back at home alone, all he did was complain how plain and boring I was. He'd constantly ridiculed me; how I dressed, that I didn't wear enough makeup, that I was lousy in bed."

John sat up. He was aglow with righteous indignation. Warmth spread through her despite how rotten remembering Mac made her feel. Never had she had someone like John in her corner, so strong and resolute. He was a force to be reckoned with.

"That's ridiculous! You are far from plain and boring . . . do you hear me? I've never met someone as naturally beautiful, both inside and out, as you."

Anna took her arm away from her face and looked over at him. He was dead serious. John Bates was the type of man who meant the words he said. And he said she was beautiful. She couldn't remember the last time a compliment meant as much as those words coming from him.

"It's okay, it actually made things easier. Mac grew tired of me and sought pleasure elsewhere. I knew he was cheating and I'm not going to lie, it hurt. But another part of me was relieved."

"How could you be relieved at his adultery?" John's voice was incredulous.

She could feel her face reddened. "Easy. He was less interested in making love with me. It was never very good between us. I never seemed to live up to his expectations which he never let me forget. After the first year or so, it simply became a chore I dreaded."

"Aww sweetheart, making love shouldn't be a chore." His words came soft and aching. "I am so sorry . . . I know you don't want to hear that, but I am sorry that you were married to a man who destroyed something that should be wonderful, even incredible, between a man and a woman."

She knew he was right. Sex should be something special, or least not ugly, but she didn't have any evidence to support such an assertion. Mac had been her only experience.

"Maybe, but I didn't think about it much at the time. We were both busy. After I finished my graduate degree in business administration, I got a job as manager at a small hotel in the West End. It was in bad shape when I hired on and I worked tirelessly bringing it up to snuff. I swear I filled in every job there from desk clerk to bell hop to maid to make sure the place was a success."

She looked over at John who had a mischievous grin on his face. "What? Why are you smiling?"

"I bet you were pretty cute in a maid's uniform."

Anna just rolled her eyes and gave John a playful slap on the arm. "No, I did not have to wear a maid's uniform."

"Oh well, too bad." He sent her an exaggerated frown. "Was the hotel a success?"

"Yes, it took a while to get everything in order, but by the time I left it was one of the most respected small boutique hotels in the area."

"That's something to be proud of."

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" She turned on to her side again to face him.

"Let me guess, Mac wasn't."

"He always made light of my work at the hotel. It wasn't where the "real" money was at. Well, at about this same time he left trading and got involved in real estate investment. He had bought and sold a few properties here and there and had made a decent profit, so now he wanted to do it full time. Of course, about six months after he started, the recession hit. He couldn't sell the properties he owned and without any revenue coming in he couldn't purchase any more. He ended up turning them all back over to the bank. This was the beginning of his downward spiral."

"Only the beginning?"

"And it got worse with each day. The more money he lost, the more he began to drink and stay out. There were times he didn't come home for days. Around the same time, I was offered my job at Concord. For Mac, my success was adding insult to injury."

John reached over and found her hand again. "How bad did it get, Anna?"

"It got bad. Mac couldn't find work. His reputation wasn't the greatest after the real estate stint. Most people in his field considered him somewhat of a loose cannon who was also a drunk. Then because he couldn't handle what was happening to him, he began to take his frustration out on me."

She paused. This was her last chance to turn back before she exposed everything. She could stop; he wouldn't push her. Another breath. A faint honk of a car horn came in her window with the breeze. John pumped reassurance into her with the simple squeeze of her hand. It was now or never.

"For a long time, Mac would make comments insinuating I was having an affair. Usually, they were off-hand and I didn't take them seriously, but they began to intensify as he struggled with his career and booze. He would regularly scream and berate me with all kinds of terrible names. A day didn't go by he didn't call me a whore or slut or worse. I should have left him then, but I still had this notion that our marriage was salvageable, that it was just him being out of work that was making him act that way. Damn it, I was such a bloody idiot." Her eyes began to prick. Tears were forming along with the lump in her throat.

"Don't, Anna. Don't blame yourself. You know it's not your fault. You can never change what happened; you can only keep moving forward."

She nodded and wiped at her eyes. She couldn't lose it, not yet. There was more she had to say and it was only going to be more difficult.

"I know, John. It's just if I had seen where this was all headed, I could have made some different decisions."

He inched closer and with his free hand brushed her still damp hair back from her face. "Hindsight is always 20/20 when in reality we often walk blind into each day, not knowing where our choices will lead us. . . .Where did it lead, Anna? What happened next?"

She pushed herself up and sat cross-legged from John, mirroring his posture. She needed to strong or at least attempt to be. She couldn't do that lying down. John's hands immediately found both of hers.

"It was a Friday. Mac hadn't come home for dinner. I hadn't seen him since the morning when I left for work. I had brought files home and spent most the evening compiling a report." She puffed a small laugh. "I know, what an exciting life I lead."

His kind eyes found hers. "Trust me, my weekends are no more thrilling."

"Anyway, I stayed up for a while watching a marathon of _Cash in the Attic_ and eating a pint of butter pecan ice cream. A little before midnight, Mac arrived home with the help of his mate, Tommy. He was beaten and bloody. The sad fact is that wasn't all that unusual. He had gotten quite a few scrapes over the last year. But then Tommy tells me that Mac got arrested and spent the last few hours in jail. That had never happened before. Pub fights don't usually end up in arrests."

"What made this fight different?"

Anna shook her head. The whole absurdity of the fight still got to her. Damn Mac, he never could control his temper.

"Mac decided to pick a fight with a soldier and not just any soldier, mind you, one that had recently returned from Afghanistan and was disabled."

John squinted in confusion. "I've had a few instances when I've been stateside wearing my uniform and run into anti-war folks who like to tell me why they hate war or the military, but they've never been violent and usually just want to say their piece. Why the hell did Mac do that?"

"Believe me, it wasn't any political statement. Mac doesn't have any real convictions. He'll cozy up to whomever he thinks he can make the best deal with regardless of beliefs."

"Then why?"

"At first, I was as confounded as you. Tommy told me he walked up to this soldier who was in uniform with a whole group from his regiment and started ranting at him. The poor guy had a limp and needed a cane, but that didn't stop Mac from throwing the first punch. Even Tommy, who's pretty much a loser himself, was shocked by his behavior. It was only through the benevolence of the soldier that Mac got out of in jail. He decided not to bring charges because he had seen enough ugliness and didn't want to deal with anymore."

"I can understand that."

"Well, maybe so, but I wish to god that he had pressed charges then Mac would have never made it home that evening." Without even realizing it, the first tear escaped and slowly slalomed down her cheek.

John bent forward, his forehead almost touching hers. "We can stop now, Anna. We don't have to go on," he offered softly.

She squeezed his hands. "No, I want to tell it all. I can't stop now."

"Just know we can end this at any time."

"Okay," she tried to muster a smile and failed. "Anyway, Tommy left and Mac was sprawled half-awake on our sofa. Normally, I'd just leave him to sleep it off and attempt to talk with him in the morning, but I was so furious about the fight that I went over and laid into him. I wanted to know what the hell he had been thinking or if he had been thinking at all. And you want to know why he got in a fight? I still can't believe it."

Her voice's pitch rose in accordance with her snowballing anger.

"Once again, he was convinced I was having an affair, this time with the soldier. Unbelievable, surreal really. There he was shouting all these bizarre accusations and I just lost it. I started shouting right back. I never had done that before, it's just not in my nature. Oh, I had been plenty mad before but I knew getting in a yelling match with Mac wouldn't solve anything . . . and I was right."

Anna's breathe trembled unevenly.

"I don't even remember what I said exactly, all I know was that the argument ended with me screaming that he was a worthless excuse of a man. At those words he just . . ." She hiccupped another breathe. ". . . snapped. He threw me against an end table. I lost my balance and fell to the floor where he proceeded to kick me over and over and over."

Her face was wet and she knew she was on the verge of hyperventilating. Strong arms came around her and John pulled her him in a tight embrace. With her head against his chest, he rocked her slowly and crooned in a whisper, "You don't have to do this, love."

She shook her head and brought her arms around him. No, she couldn't turn back. It was all coming out. The pressure of keeping it hidden for months was bearing down on her like a train. She clung to John; he was the only thing keeping her afloat.

"He had never hit me before. He'd been crazy angry before, thrown things. Broke a vase once. But never gotten physical until then."

"With animals like him, it's only a matter of time." John laid a soft kiss on her hairline.

"I tried to get up; I really did. I fought him off the best I could, but the more I screamed, the harder he kicked. And he knew what he was doing, he didn't hit me on my face or anywhere that could be seen. He kept kicking me in my chest and stomach. He knew I wouldn't have the courage to go to the police." Another hiccup. "And he was right, I was a coward."

"God no, you're no coward. Don't even think that."

"But I do, I can't help it. I couldn't come forward about the beating . . ." Anna pulled back to look John in the eye. ". . . or what happened next."

His eyes closed on a sad sigh and he pulled her even closer in his embrace. He knew where this story was headed. He probably knew from the beginning, but she had finally confirmed it.

"Oh Anna, I'm so sorry . . ."

Keep going. She had to keep going.

"I guess my screams were becoming too loud. It was a muggy night and all the windows were open; probably afraid the neighbors might call the police. So he pulled me up off the floor by my hair and pushed me into the kitchen where he grabbed an eight inch kitchen knife from the block and held it to my throat." The hyperventilating was beginning. She couldn't stop it. "I remember he said, 'I'll . . . I'll . . . cut you bitch, if you scream.' And he . . . he . . . meant it."

She took a staggered gasp, then another before continuing. "He was a different man that night. Mac could be a jerk and cruel, but . . . but this person was evil. His eyes. They glowed with hate. They weren't his; they belonged to someone else."

John ran his hands up and down her back. His chest was warm and his heartbeat strong. Its steady beat gave her fortitude to continue.

"So I stopped screaming. I stopped fighting. I really thought he was going to kill me, but instead he dragged me down the hall to the bedroom."

Anna closed her eyes while she spoke. She didn't want to see John. She didn't want to see anything around her. She didn't want to taint her surroundings with her words.

"He grabbed two wire hangers from the closet before throwing me down on the bed. He . . . he . . ." The words having trouble forming, she couldn't catch a full breath. "He threw me on the bed and tied my . . . my . . . hands to the iron headboard with the hangers. The twisted metal dug into my wrists. God, it . . . it . . . hurt. Then he said, 'He'd make it so . . . so . . . no one would ever want me again.'"

Before Anna could say another word, John had pulled himself up into a sitting position against the pillows and lifted Anna into his lap. He cradled her there and gently swayed back and forth.

"Anna, Anna, Anna. . ." She felt a tear fall onto her forehead. She wasn't crying alone.

"Then he . . . he . . . cut off my clothes with the knife and . . . raped me." She couldn't stop the weeping; deep wracking sobs shook her body.

"God, I'm sorry Anna. I wish I could have been there." And then as an afterthought, John mumbled, "I should have been there." It didn't make sense, but somehow it did.

He just held her. Time could be heard ticking away on his pocket watch, but John's arms stayed around her, strong and solid. Second after second, minute after minute.

Her cries began to subside. Her breathing while not normal was starting to regulate itself. Only small sniffles punctuated the silence.

"I don't know how long it lasted, probably not that long, but unlike some of the women I met in my group, I remember exactly what happened, every bloody, humiliating bit. I didn't black out during it nor have I blocked it since. It's always right there lurking in my memory. Once he was finished with me, Mac passed out dead asleep within minutes. As he lay next to me, I managed to wiggle my hands free and escape. And as I was crawling off the bed, the kitchen knife was right there on the bedside table. I won't lie to you John, I thought about grabbing it and using it. I so wanted to."

John gave her a tender squeeze. "Nobody would have blamed you if you had."

"I just couldn't even after all that he had done to me. To take a human life . . ." Anna simply shook her head.

Silence again, but that was okay. It was a good silence. A cleansing feeling was beginning to circulate through Anna's body, but she had a long way to go. Guilt and shame lingered.

"I'm not stupid or denying what happened. I know that Mac's responsible. He raped me. He did it. He's the culprit. But at the same time, I sort of see it as my cross to bear. If I hadn't made such poor decisions in the past . . ."

"No, Anna. Stop right there. Maybe you did make some bad decisions. So what? Everyone has at some point in their lives, but that doesn't mean a brutal attack should be retribution for such choices. You can't change the past . . . believe me, I've wanted to so badly . . . you can only strive to make better choices. To me, it seems like you've already started making sound decisions: you left Mac, you filed for divorce, you got a restraining order and you didn't knife in his sleep." John paused. He was thinking again. She could almost hear it. "And stopping yourself when you want nothing more to kill is a very difficult thing to do, but also the right thing to do. You'll be forever grateful."

It was nice to hear those words. They were a boost to her self-confidence. She was smart and competent. She should be able to trust herself to make good decisions.

But John's comments about killing were odd. Once again she wondered what he had seen and done in the military. It couldn't have been good. Did he suffer from the same sense of trauma and guilt that she had? He seemed so stout and solid holding her upon his lap, but inside was he just as weak and messed up as her?

John issued a groan and shifted his hold on Anna.

"What is it, John? Are you all right?

"I'm fine. I just need to move you off my bad side."

"Of course, of course." Anna began to scramble off of him. Jeez, she felt terrible. Here she was self-absorbed with her own problems and not even realizing he was in pain.

"Whoa, where are you off to?" John readjusted himself and reached for her to rejoin him. She came to him without thinking. He tugged her down beside him and nestled her close.

His heart thumped softly in her ear. Sleepiness began to descend upon her. She was exhausted. Her eyes drooped. Her body relaxed. She was where she was supposed to be.

"Thanks John for listening. I don't think I could have told anyone else."

He pulled her against him even tighter. "No, thank you for trusting me enough to share."

Once again, silence pervaded. Anna was about to doze.

"John?" Her voice was heavy on the verge of sleep. "Would you mind staying with me tonight?"

For the second time that evening, John assured her, "I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

John knew it was morning without opening his eyes. Sunshine hit the back of his closed lids and warmed his body. A cool, morning breeze feathered his face. God, it felt good. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept this late in morning. Usually by now, the ache in his side would have goaded him out of bed.

But not today. His body didn't ache at all. Strange. Still keeping his eyes shut, he stretched his arms high above his head and breathed in deeply. Then it hit him exactly where he was. Her scent shrouded him, but he knew without looking that he was alone in bed.

He slowly sat up. He was still in his dress shirt and suit pants. A blanket had been thrown over him at some point. Anna must have already left for work. He checked the clock. 7:45 am. Damn, he must have just missed her. She had been leaving about this time each morning.

On the other hand, maybe she had left early on purpose. What she had confessed yesterday had to have taken an emotional toll on her. She might now regret opening up so much to him. After all he was a stranger only few days ago.

But John was glad she told him. She would be better in the long run. It tore at him that someone so young, beautiful and smart was brutalized by that monster. If John ever saw Mac again . . . well, the bastard would have trouble walking away and that's if John allowed him to walk away. Damn the man.

He heard the front door open, followed by the patter of heels upon hardwood. As he cleared the sleep from his brain, Anna appeared in the doorway.

"Hello," she greeted with a shy smile.

"Hello." He couldn't help returning her smile.

"Did you sleep all right?"

"Yes, amazingly so. One of the best nights I've had in long time."

"Me too," Her face blossomed even more. So did his.

John gestured to the door. "I thought you had already left for work."

"I'm about to, but I just popped out to get something for you to say thank you for . . . you know . . . for last night." She crossed the room and sat down on the bed. She had one arm behind her back.

He sighed, "Anna, you know that's not necessary."

She nodded her grin still in place. "I know." And he could tell she did.

A new aroma hit his nostrils; one that had been absent in his life for too long.

"Is that what I think it is?"

From behind her back, Anna produced a Starbucks coffee cup. "I wasn't sure what kind you like, so I got you a Café Mocha. It's my favorite."

He had to chuckle. Of course, the chocolate flavored one would be her favorite. He took the hot drink from her and took a big whiff before placing in on the nightstand.

"You, my darling, are a saint." And without thinking about what he was doing, John placed both hands on her cheeks and teasingly drew her in for a kiss, much the same way he would have done for his sister.

But Anna was not his sister. The moment his lips touched hers, John's mind blanked. He couldn't comprehend past the sensation of her lips gently moving under his. They were soft, generous and slightly cold from being just coming in from outside. They matched his perfectly, as if they had been paired before. He could taste mint as she opened her mouth to his. He wanted to follow her lead, but instinctively he knew this was not the time or place. He suckled her bottom lip slightly before pulling apart. Slowly his mind began to function again and his first thought was he wanted to kiss again and soon.

Yet, the more his brain processed, the more he remembered from last night. No, Anna was far too fragile to initiate more than a gentle kiss this morning. He was man enough to be able to control his libido. But lord, he wanted to kiss her again.

Her eyes opened and met his. They were blue and honest.

"Well, I'm glad you like your drink," she chuckled and got up making her way back across the room.

"Best way to start a morning." But John wasn't talking about his coffee.

As Anna walked out of the room, she called over her shoulder, "I should be home around six tonight."

"I'll be waiting."

John didn't mind waiting for Anna to return. It seemed he had been waiting a lifetime just to meet her.

* * *

_**A/N: For those of you that own the season one script book, you may have noticed I used the original dialogue that Fellowes wrote for the tray scene. While I do agree it was probably a better scene without any dialogue, I did like the original back and forth so I added it here. **_

_**Next chapter: All I have to say is—ROAD TRIP! About time John and Anna begin to connect more to their Downton past. **_

_**With that, I am bringing back the Astute Reader Challenge—yay! So far we have met John, Anna, Vera, Gwen, Robert (via telephone), Cora's been mentioned (but alas dead) and Branson (mentioned briefly, oh, we'll meet him later). This is all the characters from the show that will make reincarnated appearances in the story. But I am having an offspring of a character (ie. grandchild, not reincarnated self) make an appearance (probably two chapters from now) when they visit Downton. Any guesses whose grandchild John and Anna will meet? **_


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